


A Parked Taxi with the Meter Running

by Ima_Paris_Sight



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 49,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ima_Paris_Sight/pseuds/Ima_Paris_Sight
Summary: A rejuvenation of the medical drama. The cases and clinic hours remain canon, though outside the office may change. They are teenage prodigies, after all.





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Okay… so I love reading fanfictions where shows age or de-age, leaving the characters in high school. However, there's a shortage of that with primetime dramas. There's even a larger shortage of that with primetime medical dramas. So, with that in mind, I hereby restart House's eight seasons with a younger cast.
> 
> Notice: I don't own anyone unless otherwise stated.

Greg House, Lisa Cuddy, and James Wilson have known each other for roughly a decade. James just turned eighteen after their high school graduation. Lisa turned eighteen in January, and Greg will turn nineteen at the end of November. It's currently early November. Since March, the trio has been legitimately working at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital after being recognized as prodigies in the medical field. James wrote an amazing paper, giving him an opportunity in oncology. Lisa has leadership skills, so she is able to work with the administration. Greg loves to solve a good mystery, and he is the head of diagnostics - despite also being the youngest. Previously, they had worked as interns; before that, the trio had been coming in and out of said hospital for reasons of their own.

 

As a child, Greg was neglected by his mother, only to be abused by his alcoholic father. He's an only child, so everything had come down to him. As a result, he acted out and ended up repeating second grade. He is very closed-minded, always trying to take out his pain and frustration on others. This is how he met Lisa and James.

 

Lisa and her younger (by eight years) sister Julia have always lived with domineering, strict parents. They've pushed the girls through straight A academics as well as captain of various athletics. By junior high, Lisa had found herself being pressured not to make a single mistake. She was captain of cheerleaders, volleyball team, and softball team, and co-captain of the soccer team. She ran track and was also a prominent member of the 4-H club, FCCLA, HOSA, and choir. She suffered a meltdown, unfortunately, in the middle of a geography bee.

 

James originally had plans to be in show business. He has lived in a single parent household all his life, and his mom has supported him all the way - through tap dancing classes, glee club, and drama productions. Though elementary and junior high, James has loved wearing bold and flamboyant attire to school. He had also utilized time in art classes by creating new set and costume designs.

 

However, because of this, he was bullied. It went from nasty name-calling and an occasional shove of the playground to threats left on his locker and being pulled into fights in the hall. During one fight, he and his bully were sent to the hospital… and they got to learn about one another. This is how James and Greg became friends. Starting at a young age, his younger (by four years) brother Danny was constantly scared for his brother. As he aged, he wore darker clothes and kept away from the family. As such, he went missing at age eleven.

 

On the day of graduation, Greg, Lisa, and James were given a full ride into college via working at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. James confided in his mom that he's gay or, in the very least, bisexual. She, unfortunately, doesn't know how to take it, and he's now closed-minded of his sexual orientation.

 

James is currently living behind his house, in the guest house converted from a garage. Greg and Lisa used their saved up money to move into separate apartments off campus. At work, three high school student interns are working for Greg for college credit. While the medical prodigy doesn't care for human interaction, when he discovered he has the power to enlist without pay, he was all for it.

 

He recruited a tall (yet a few inches shorter than Greg) black fifteen years old named Eric Foreman for having a criminal record. He's a junior at Epson Reform School. Greg recruited a blonde fifteen-year-old Aussie named Robert Chase because the kid's dad made a call. He's a junior at Spencer High. Greg also recruited a short (as Lisa) dirty blonde fourteen-year-old named Alison Cameron because of her looks. She's a sophomore at Morrison Christian Academy.

 

It's another Wednesday. Greg and James are walking down the hall of the PPTH. Greg is wearing a purple button-up, a black jacket, and jeans. He leans on a cane due to an incident sustained in high school. He hates to talk about it, usually lying or evading the question when asked. James, on the other hand, is dressed professionally - down to the white pharmacist coat.

 

Wilson starts speaking, looking through the file in his hands. "Twenty-nine-year-old female, first seizure one month ago, lost the ability to speak. Babbled like a baby. Present deterioration of mental status."

 

"See that?" House pointedly ignores his friend. "They all assume I'm a patient because of this cane."

 

"So put on a white coat like the rest of us."

 

"I don't want them to think I'm a doctor."

 

"You see where the administration might have a problem with that attitude." Wilson sighs.

 

"People don't want a sick doctor."

 

"Fair enough. I don't like healthy patients." Wilson concedes before returning to the case. "The twenty-nine-year-old female…"

 

"The one who can't talk, I liked that part."

 

Wilson stops in front of House. "She's my cousin."

 

"And your cousin doesn't like the diagnosis. I wouldn't either. Brain tumor, she's gonna die, boring."

 

"No wonder you're such a prodigical diagnostician. You don't need to actually know anything to figure out what's wrong."

 

"You're the oncology specialist; I'm just a lowly infectious disease guy."

 

"Hah, yes, just a simple country doctor." Wilson sighs heavily. "Brain tumors at her age are highly unlikely."

 

"She's twenty-nine. Whatever she's got is highly unlikely."

 

"Protein markers for the three most prevalent brain cancers came up negative."

 

"That's an HMO lab; you might as well have sent it to a high school kid with a chemistry set."

 

"You  _were_  that kid six months ago." He shakes his head. "No family history."

 

"I thought your uncle died of cancer," House grumbles, remembering skipping a day in high school for the man's funeral.

 

"Other side. No environmental factors."

 

"That you know of."

 

"And she's not responding to radiation treatment."

 

"None of which is even close to dispositive. All it does is raise one question." He pauses to dryly swallow a pill of prescribed pain medicine. "Your cousin goes to an HMO?"

 

"Come on! Why leave all the fun for the coroner? What's the point of putting together a team if you're not going to use them? You've got three overqualified students working for you. Getting bored."

 

House, Eric (Foreman on the job), Robert (Chase on the job), and Alison (Cameron on the job) are in an office room. They are looking through an MRI of Rebecca's head.

 

"It's a lesion," Foreman concludes.

 

"And the big green thing in the middle of the bigger blue thing on a map is an island. I was hoping for something a bit more creative."

 

"Shouldn't we be speaking to the patient before we start diagnosing?"

 

"Is she a doctor?"

 

"No, but…"

 

"Everybody lies."

 

Cameron whispers to Foreman. "Dr. House doesn't like dealing with patients."

 

"Isn't treating patients why we became doctors?" He whispers back.

 

"No, treating illnesses is why we became doctors, treating patients is what makes most doctors miserable," House answers them.

 

"So you're trying to eliminate the humanity from the practice of medicine." Foreman keeps the banter going.

 

"If we don't talk to them they can't lie to us, and we can't lie to them. Humanity is overrated. I don't think it's a tumor."

 

"First year of medical school if you hear hoofbeats you think "horses" not "zebras"."

 

"Are you in first year of medical school? No. First of all, there's nothing on the CAT scan. Second of all, if this is a horse then the kindly family doctor in Trenton makes the obvious diagnosis and it never gets near this office.

Differential diagnosis, people: if it's not a tumor what are the suspects? Why couldn't she talk?"

 

Chase has some ideas. "An aneurysm, stroke, or some other ischaemic syndrome."

 

"Get her a contrast MRI."

 

"Creutzfeld-Jakob disease." Cameron points out.

 

"Mad cow?" Chase questions her.

 

House corrects them. "Mad zebra."

 

"Wernicke's encephalopathy?" Foreman tries.

 

"No, blood thiamine level was normal."

 

"Lab in Trenton could have screwed up the blood test. I assume it's a corollary if people lie, that people screw up."

 

"Redraw the blood tests. And get her scheduled for that contrast MRI ASAP. Let's find out what kind of zebra we're dealing with here."

 

The interns oblige, and House moves to stand at the elevator. He sees Lisa (Cuddy) and presses the down button twice.

 

"I was expecting you in my office 20 minutes ago."

 

"Really? Well, that's odd, because I had no intention of being in your office 20 minutes ago." House replies smartly.

 

"You think we have nothing to talk about?"

 

"No, just that I can't think of anything that I'd be interested in."

 

"I help sign your paychecks now."

 

"They need me here." The elevator opens and House turns to Cuddy. "Are you going to grab my cane now, stop me from leaving?"

 

"That would be juvenile."

 

House enters the elevator, rolling his eyes when Cuddy joins him as the doors close.

 

Cuddy turns to House and smiles. "I can still fire you if you're not doing your job."

 

"I'm here from 9 to 5."

 

"Your billings are practically nonexistent."

 

"Rough year."

 

"You ignore requests for consults."

 

"I call back. Sometimes I misdial."

 

"You're three years behind on your obligation to this clinic."

 

"See, I was right, this doesn't interest me."

 

"Three years, times 3 weeks; you owe us better than 4 months. Doesn't matter how long you've worked here when half the time, you don't work."

 

"It's 5:00. I'm going home."

 

"To what?"

 

"Nice."

 

"Look, Dr. House, the only reason that you don't get fired is because your reputation worth something to this hospital."

 

"Excellent, we have a point of agreement. You aren't going to fire me."

 

"Your reputation won't last up if you don't do your job. The clinic is part of your job. I want you to do your job."

 

"Well, like the philosopher Jagger once said, "You can't always get what you want," House smirks.

 

Upstairs, in the hall, Rebecca is in a wheelchair with Cameron and Chase, and Foreman pushing her.

 

Rebecca glances up. "You're not my doctor. Are you Dr. House?"

 

"Thankfully no." He laughs. "I'm Dr. Chase."

 

"Dr. House is the head of diagnostic medicine. He's very busy, but he has taken a keen interest in your case."

 

In the MRI room, Rebecca is on the table. Foreman and Cameron are in the room with her, Foreman explaining what he's about to do.

 

"We inject gadolinium into a vein. It distributes itself throughout your brain and acts as a contrast material for the magnetic resonance imagery."

 

Cameron smiles and attempts to interpret in layman's terms. "Basically, whatever's in your head, lights up like a Christmas tree."

 

"It might make you feel a little lightheaded," Foreman adds.

 

"Dr. Cameron. I'm sorry I have to stop you, there's a problem." A nurse from inside the control room calls out.

 

Half an hour later, House busts into Cuddy's office. She's unimpressed and continues filing her papers.

 

He all but shouts. "You pulled my authorization!"

 

"Yes, why are you yelling?" Her voice is calm.

 

"No MRIs, no imaging studies, no labs!"

 

"You also can't make long distance phone calls."

 

"If you're gonna fire me at least have the guts to face me!"

 

"Or photocopies; you're still yelling."

 

"I'm ANGRY! You're risking a patient's life."

 

"I assume those are two separate points."

 

"You showed me disrespect, you embarrassed me and as long as I'm still working here you have…"

 

Cuddy interrupts, finally meeting his gaze, as she sets down her papers. "Is your yelling designed to scare me because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be scared of. More yelling? That's not scary. That you're gonna hurt me? That's scary, but I'm pretty sure I can outrun ya."

 

"Oh, I looked into that philosopher you quoted, Jagger, and you're right, "You can't always get what you want," but as it turns out "if you try sometimes you get what you need."

 

House frowns. "So, because you want me to treat patients, you aren't letting me treat patients."

 

"I need you to do your job."

 

House comes out of Cuddy's office. Wilson and the interns are waiting. He sighs.

 

"Do the MRI, she folded."

 

The interns leave, and House turns to Wilson (who's waiting to hear the deal.

 

"I've gotta do four hours a week in this clinic until I make up the time I've missed. 2067. I'll be caught up in 2067." He walks into the clinic, turning back for a moment to face Wilson. "You better love this cousin a whole lot."

 

Back in MRI room, Rebecca is back on the table. She is pushed into the machine.

 

"All right Rebecca," Cameron speaks over the intercom. "We know you may feel a little claustrophobic in there, but we need you to remain still."

 

Chase adds in, also over the intercom. "Ok, we're gonna begin."

 

The machine starts up and makes weird sounds.

 

Rebecca starts complaining not long after starting. "I don't feel so good."

 

"It's all right. Just try to relax." Chase assures her.

 

Inside the MRI, Rebecca starts choking. Her throat closes up.

 

"Rebecca?" Cameron calls through the intercom. "Rebecca?" She calls again. With no response, she turns to Foreman and Chase. "Get her out of there."

 

"Ah she probably fell asleep; she's exhausted." Chase brushes it off.

 

"She was claustrophobic 30 seconds ago, she's not sleeping. We gotta get her out of there!"

 

"It'll just be another minute."

 

"She's having an allergic reaction to gadolinium. She'll be dead in two minutes."

 

Foreman commands his coworkers to hold her neck.

 

"Oh, she's ashen."

 

"She's not breathing. Epi point five."

 

"Come on, I can't ventilate."

 

"Too much edema, where's the surgical airway kit?"

 

Chase brings it in. "Yep, coming."

 

Rebecca's coughing up blood. The interns get her bagged.

 

"Good call." Chase aims his praise for Cameron.

 

In the hospital room, Thursday morning, Rebecca has a ventilator hooked up to her. The interns are exempt from school by the hospital's request.

 

"We'll get that tube out of your throat later today," Chase promises.

 

"Just get some rest for now." Cameron smiles.

 

They leave to the hallway. House is waiting for them there.

 

"Told you, can't trust people."

 

"She probably knew she was allergic to gadolinium, figured it was an easy way to get someone to cut a hole in her throat."

 

House nods to Cameron. "Can't get a picture, gonna have to get a thousand words."

 

"You actually want me to talk to the patient? Get a history?" Foreman is surprised.

 

"We need to know if there are some genetic or environmental causes triggering an inflammatory response."

 

"I thought everybody lied?"

 

"Truth begins in lies. Think about it."

 

"That doesn't mean anything, does it?" Foreman asks the others as House walks away.

 

House groans, walking up to the check-in desk in the clinic. "12:52 PM Dr. House checks in, please write that down. Do you have cable TV here somewhere? General Hospital starts in 8 minutes."

 

"No TV." Cuddy remarks from behind. "But we've got patients."

 

"Can't you give out the aspirin yourself? I'll do paperwork."

 

"I made sure your first case was an interesting one." She responds to his complaints and hands over a case file.

 

He groans, reading it over. "A cough just won't go away, runny nose looks a funny color."

 

"Patient admitted complaining of back spasms."

 

"I think I read about something like that in the New England Journal of Medicine."

 

"Patient is orange."

 

"The color?"

 

"No, the fruit."

 

"You mean yellow; it's jaundice."

 

"I mean orange."

 

"Well, how orange?"

 

"Exam room 1." She hands him the file.

 

House is in exam room one staring at an actual orange guy fiddling with his wedding band.

 

The orange guy decides to explain. "I was playing golf and my cleat got stuck. I mean, it hurt a little but I kept playing. The next morning I could barely stand up. Well, you're smiling so I take it that means this isn't serious."

 

House takes out his pills and the orange guy looks puzzled.

 

"What's that? What are you doing?"

 

"Painkillers."

 

"Oh, for you, for your leg."

 

"No, 'cause they're yummy. Do you want one? It'll make your back feel better."

 

The guy nods and House gives him a painkiller

 

"Unfortunately, you have a deeper problem. Your wife is having an affair."

 

"What?!"

 

"You're orange, you moron! It's one thing for you not to notice, but if your wife hasn't picked up on the fact that her husband has changed color, she's just not paying attention. By the way, do you consume just a ridiculous amount of carrots and mega-dose vitamins?"

 

The guy nods slowly, trying to wrap his head around everything.

 

"The carrots turn you yellow, the niacin turns you red. Get some finger-paints and do the math. And get a good lawyer."

 

House leaves the room, only to enter another exam room, this time with the patient being a little boy.

 

"Deep breath."

 

The little boy complains halfheartedly. "It's cold."

 

House directs a question to the mother in the room. "Has he been using his inhaler?"

 

"Not in the past few days. He's, um, only ten. I worry about children taking such strong medicine so frequently."

 

"What happened to your leg?"

 

The child inquires and then starts to wheeze a little. He continues to wheeze throughout the entire time that House berates the mother.

 

"Your doctor probably was concerned about the strength of the medicine, too. She probably weighed that danger against the danger of not breathing. Oxygen is so important during those prepubescent years, don't you think? Ok, I'm gonna assume that no body's ever told you what asthma is, or if they have, you had other things on your mind. A stimulant triggers cells in your child's airways to release substances that inflame the air passages and cause them to contract. Mucus production increases, cell-lining starts to shed. But the steroids, the steroids…stop the inflammation. The more often this happens…" He trails off and starts to leave the room.

 

The mother sounds concerned."What? "The more often this happens…" What?"

 

"Forget it. If you don't trust steroids, you shouldn't trust doctors."

 

House leaves the clinic and heads upstairs via the elevator.

 

In Rebecca's room, she's giving Cameron and Foreman details of her family history.

 

"My mother passed away three years ago. She had a heart attack, and my father broke his back doing construction."

 

Cameron's mandatory pager goes off. She checks it, then looks between her coworker and the patient.

 

"It's House, it's urgent. I'm sorry."

 

They go outside the room and see House again waiting for them there.

 

"You couldn't have knocked?" She complains.

 

"Steroids. Give her steroids, high doses of prednisone."

 

Foreman groans. "You're looking for support for a diagnosis of cerebral vasculitis."

 

Cameron agrees. "Inflammation of the blood vessels in the brain is awfully rare. Especially for someone her age."

 

"So is a tumor. Her SED rate was elevated."

 

"Mildly."

 

"That could mean anything or nothing." They answer in the same order.

 

"Yeah, I know. I have no reason to think that it's vasculitis except that it could be. If the blood vessels were inflamed that's gonna look exactly like what we saw on the MRI from Trenton County, and the pressure's gonna cause neurological symptoms."

 

"You can't diagnose that without a biopsy." Cameron holds off.

 

"Yes, we can, we treat it. If she gets better we know that we're right."

 

"And if we're wrong?"

 

"We learn something else."

 

Back in Rebecca's room, she's confused about the latest treatment. "Why steroids?"

 

"Just part of your treatment. You haven't had many visitors. No boyfriend?" Chase is with her.

 

"Three dates. I wouldn't have stood by him if she were vomiting all day."

 

"Well, what about work? You must have friends from work."

 

"Pretty much everybody I like is 5 years old. A nurse said you're stopping my radiation."

 

"We're just trying some alternative medications. So, where's your family from then?"

 

"Steroids aren't an alternative to radiation." She confronts him.

 

"The tests weren't really conclusive."

 

Cameron comes into the room. "We're treating you for vasculitis, it's the inflammation of blood vessels in the brain."

 

"It's not a tumor? I don't have a tumor?"

 

In the hallway, Chase turns to Cameron.

 

"You should have told her the truth. It's a long shot guess."

 

Cameron thanks the nurse who grabs her file. She then turns to face Chase. "If House is right, no harm, if he's wrong we've given a dying woman a couple days hopefully."

 

"False hope."

 

"If there was any other type available I would have given her that."

 

In Rebecca's classroom, Foreman is smelling the floor. A little blonde girl named Sidney walks up to him.

 

"Why are you smelling Billy's pants?" She asks, gesturing to the little boy to Foreman's right.

 

"I'm not."

 

"Looked like you were." She replies singsong.

 

"I was smelling the floor."

 

"Oh. How old are you?"

 

"Fifteen. Do you have any pets in this class?"

 

"No, but we used to have a gerbil, but Carly L. dropped a book on it." She points to a girl at a table working on a coloring page.

 

"Careless."

 

"Do you need to smell it?" She asks excitedly.

 

"No, I'm smelling for mold. I don't need to smell it."

 

"You can smell our parrot."

 

"You said you didn't have any pets in this class."

 

She smiles matter-of-factly. "A parrot is a bird."

 

House and Foreman are later eating lunch with some medical drama on the TV that has House's attention more than Foreman does. He's not even moving his gaze away from the TV.

 

"Parrots are the primary source of psittacosis." Foreman keeps going.

 

"It's not the parrot."

 

"Psitticosis can lead to nerve problems and neurological complications."

 

"How many kids were there in the class?"

 

"Twenty."

 

"How many are homesick?"

 

"None, but…"

 

"None, but you think that five-year-olds are more serious about bird hygiene than their teacher. You've been through her home?"

 

"She lives in Trenton. I can go up to her room tomorrow morning and ask her for the key."

 

"Would the police call for permission before dropping by to check out a crime scene?" House finally looks down to his colleague.

 

"It's not a crime scene."

 

"Far as I know she's running a Meth Lab out of her basement."

 

"She's a kindergarten teacher!"

 

"And if I was a Kindergarten student I would trust her implicitly." He sighs and then points to a cafeteria worker behind the line. "Ok, I'll give you a for instance. The lady back there, who made your egg-salad sandwich. Her eyes look glassy, did you notice that? Now hospital policy is to stay home if you're sick, but if you're making $8.00 an hour, then ya kinda need the $8.00 an hour right? The sign in the bathroom says that employees must wash after using the facilities, but I figure that somebody who wipes snot on a sleeve isn't hyper-concerned about sanitary conditions. So what do ya think? Should I trust her? I want you to check the patient's home for contaminants, garbage, medication…"

 

Foreman interrupts him. "Whoa, oh, I can't just break into someone's house."

 

"Isn't that how you got into the Felker's home?" He pauses as Foreman's eyes widen. "Yeah, I know, court records are sealed, you were 12, it was a stupid mistake, but your old gym teacher has a big mouth. You should write a thank you note."

 

"I should thank him?"

 

"Well, I needed somebody around here with street smarts. Ok? Knows when you're being conned, knows how to con."

 

"I should sue you!"

 

"I'm pretty sure you can't sue somebody for wrongful hiring."

 

"But I'm pretty sure I can sue if you fire me for not breaking into some lady's house."

 

Foreman pointedly eats the rest of the sandwich. After lunch, House is in an empty exam room in the clinic. He's sitting and reading "Spring's Hottest People" Magazine when Cuddy suddenly walks in.

 

"I'm doing research. People are fascinating aren't they?" House immediately has a go-to response.

 

"Why are you giving Adler steroids?" She demands.

 

"Well, she's my patient that's what you do with patients. You give them medicine."

 

"You don't prescribe medicine based on guesses. At least we don't since Tuskeegee and Mengele."

 

"You're comparing me to a Nazi? Nice."

 

"I'm stopping the treatment."

 

"She's my patient." House stands up.

 

"It's my hospital." She turns around.

 

"It's the  _administration's_ hospital. Just because you work there it doesn't make it your hospital. I did not get her sick, she is not an experiment, I have a legitimate theory about what's wrong with her."

 

"With no proof." Cuddy walks out with House chasing after.

 

"There's never any proof. 5 different doctors come up with 5 different diagnoses based on the same evidence."

 

"You don't have any evidence. And nobody knows anything huh? Then how is it that you always assume you're right?" She leaves the clinic and House is still following.

 

"I don't, I just find it hard to operate on the opposite assumption. And why are you so afraid of making a mistake?"

 

"Because I'm a doctor. Because when we make mistakes people die."

 

She walks off up the stairs, leaving House at the ground.

 

"Come on."

 

He grumbles. He thinks about going up the stairs but decides against it. Instead, he shouts up to Cuddy.

 

"People used to have more respect for cripples you know!" He turns to a nearby guy in a wheelchair. "They didn't really."

 

Cuddy enters Rebecca's room, ready to stop treatment. Rebecca is eating voraciously.

 

"So, how ya feeling?"

 

"Much better, thanks." She smiles, swallowing her food. "Are you Dr. House? I thought he was a he, but…?"

 

"No. Don't eat too much too fast."

 

"Thank him for me."

 

"Right."

 

Cuddy exits the room, and House is standing there. Cuddy is a bit surprised by him standing there. House just looks over and smirks.

 

"Should I discontinue the treatment, boss?"

 

"You got lucky."

 

She walks off, and House just grins. Hours later, at night, Wilson is in Rebecca's room. He finishes checking her breathing and moves to the other side of the room to write the results on her chart.

 

Rebecca pipes up then. "Am I ever gonna meet Dr. House?"

 

Wilson scoffs. "Well, you might run into him at the movies or on the bus."

 

"Is he a good man?" She asks as he continues a routine.

 

"He's a good doctor."

 

Rebecca tilts her head. "Can you be one without the other? Don't you have to care about people?"

 

"Caring's a good motivator. He's found something else." Wilson has Rebecca grab his hands. "Feel this?"

 

"Um-hmm." She mutters in agreement.

 

"How about this?" He tries again.

 

"Um-hmm." She repeats.

 

"Ok squeeze." He pauses to gage her strength. "Harder. All right."

 

"He's your friend, huh?" She smiles.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Does he care about you?"

 

"I think so."

 

"You don't know?"

 

"As Dr. House likes to say, "Everybody lies."

 

"It's not what people say, it's what they do," Rebecca informs him as he begins to pack up.

 

Wilson pauses what he's doing. "Yes, he cares about me."

 

Before he leaves, Rebecca sits up, disoriented. "I can't see. I can't see!"

 

She starts having a seizure and the monitors go crazy.

 

"A little help in here!" Wilson calls out.

 

The heart monitor shows a flat line as a nurse hurries in. The next morning is Sunday. Rebecca has an oxygen mask on. Foreman is there with her.

 

"Your chest will be sore for a while. We needed to shock you to get your heart going. Ok." He lays a bunch of cards with pictures on them in front of Rebecca. "Can you arrange these to tell a story?"

 

After a while, Foreman is back in House's office with the others. "She couldn't put them in order."

 

"Could the damage have been caused by a lack of oxygen during her seizure?" Chase asks.

 

"No, I gave her the same test 5 minutes later and she did just fine. The altered mental status is intermittent, just like the verbal skills."

 

Cameron sighs. "So, what now?"

 

"Given the latest symptoms, it's clearly growing deeper into the brain stem. Soon she won't be able to walk, she'll go blind permanently, and then the respiratory center will fail."

 

House grimaces. "How long do we have?"

 

"If it's a tumor we're talking a month, maybe two, if it's infectious a few weeks, if it's vascular that'll probably be fastest of all, maybe a week."

 

"We're gonna stop all treatment."

 

House gets up and walks over to the drinks.

 

"I still think it's a tumor. I think we should go back to the radiation." Foreman points out.

 

"She didn't respond to the radiation." Chase retorts.

 

"Well, maybe we didn't see the effects until we started steroids."

 

"No, it's not a tumor." House shakes his head. "The steroids did something, I just don't know what."

 

"So we're just gonna do nothing? We're just gonna watch her die?"

 

"Yeah, we're gonna watch her die. Specifically, we're gonna watch how fast she's dying. You just told us, each diagnosis has its own timeframe. When we see how fast it's killing her we'll know what it is." House responds, mixing some coffee.

 

Cameron is worried. "And by then maybe there's nothing we can do about it."

 

"There's go to be something we can do, something better than watching her die."

 

"Well, I got nothing. How 'bout you?"

 

House walks away with his coffee. Foreman and Cameron then exit the office.

 

"Bastard," Foreman grumbles under his breath before he turns to Cameron. "Oh, Alison, I need you for a couple of hours."

 

"What's up?"

 

"When you break into someone's house; it's always better to have a white chick with you." He smirks, revealing House's plan.

 

"Adler's house? Why don't we just ask her for a key?"

 

"For all we know, she could be running a meth lab out of her basement."

 

In the clinic, House is with a patient, a middle-aged man.

 

"I'm tired a lot." He complains.

 

"Any other reason you think you may have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?"

 

"It's kinda the definition isn't it?"

 

"It's kinda the definition of getting older." House jumps on a stool.

 

"I had a couple headaches last month, mild fever, sometimes I can't sleep, and I have trouble concentrating." He continues.

 

"Apparently not while researching this stuff on the internet."

 

"I was thinking it also might be fibromyalgia."

 

For a moment, House looks contemplative, and then his face turns more serious. In a sarcastic voice, he finally responds. "Excellent diagnosis!"

 

"Is there anything for that?"

 

House sighs heavily. "Ya know, I think there just might be."

 

House leaves the room and heads to the dispensary. When the pharmacist comes up to the counter, House places down a dollar bill.

 

"I need thirty-six Vicodin and change for a dollar."

 

House gets his change first and goes to a nearby candy machine. He gets white candies out of the machine and goes back to the counter. There he takes the Vicodin and slips them into his pocket, exchanging them for the candy.

 

"Exam room two," House remarks as he places the bottle back on the counter.

 

Meanwhile, Cameron and Foreman are searching for anything suspicious in Rebecca's house.

 

"House doesn't believe in pretense. Figures life's too short and too painful. So he just says what he thinks." Cameron exhales slowly.

 

"Nothing interesting in the garbage. "I say what I think" is just another way of saying "I'm an ass."

 

"Well, if you wanted to be judged on your medical prowess only, maybe you shouldn't have broken into someone's home."

 

"I was 12! Don't know about ticks, but her dog's definitely got fleas."

 

"I managed to make it to 13 without a criminal record."

 

Foreman is looking in the fridge and takes out some ham and mustard.

 

"Yeah?" He questions. "Well, you obviously didn't grow up in my neighborhood."

 

"That's right. You stole a loaf of bread to feed your starving family right? You always eat during break-ins?"

 

"Am I supposed to respect their food more than I respect their DVD players? You want some?"

 

"No."

 

"You gonna go hungry until she dies?"

 

"No."

 

"You know what, after centuries of oppression, decades of civil rights marches, and more significantly living like a monk, never getting less than a 4.0 GPA, you don't think it's kind of disgusting I get one of the top jobs in the country because I'm a delinquent? We'll eat, then we'll tear up the carpet."

 

"You're accepted for Hopkins right?"

 

"Yep."

 

"So, you're accepted for a better school than I am, and you're getting better grades than me."

 

"So how'd you get the job? Did you stab a guy in a bar fight?" He chuckles at Cameron's disturbed look.

 

Around three o'clock, the team is in House's office again.

 

"Nothing." Foreman breaks the tension.

 

"It's not a tumor; she's getting worse too fast. She can't stand up." House massages his temples.

 

"No toxins, no medication?" Wilson asks.

 

"Nothing that would explain these symptoms."

 

"Family history of neurological problems?"

 

"Not that I could tell from her underwear drawer." He retorts dryly.

 

"You said nothing that would explain these symptoms. What did you find that doesn't explain these symptoms?"

 

Foreman decides to call James out. "Dr. Wilson convinced you to treat this patient under false pretenses. Adler's not his cousin."

 

"That's ridiculous. You can ask her yourself. Can we get back to…"

 

Foreman interrupts him. "She's not Jewish!"

 

"Rachel Adler's not Jewish?"

 

"I had ham at her apartment!"

 

Wilson chuckles. "Dr. Foreman, a lot of Jews have non-Jewish relatives, and most of us don't keep kosher. I can see getting through high school without learning a thing about Jews, but medical school…"

 

"Ok, maybe she's Jewish," He complies. "But she's definitely not your cousin."

 

"Really?" Wilson panics. "This guy's…he…"

 

"You don't even know her name! You called her Rachel; her name is Rebecca!"

 

"Yes, yes, her name is Rebecca. I call her Rachel."

 

"You idiot!" House yells, breaking up their fight.

 

"Hey…listen…" Wilson is nervous.

 

"Not you, him!  _You_  said you didn't find anything."

 

"Everything I found was in…"

 

"You found ham."

 

"So?"

 

"Where there's ham there's pork, where there's pork there's neurocysticercosis."

 

"Tapeworm?!" Chase yelps. "You think she's got a worm in her brain?"

 

"It fits. Could have been living there for years, it never occurred to me…"

 

"Millions of people eat ham every day. It's quite a leap to think that she's got a tapeworm." Cameron cuts him off.

 

"OK, Mr. Neurologist." House looks over to the junior who plans to major in neuroscience. "What happens when you give steroids to a person who has a tapeworm?"

 

Knowing how well it fits, Foreman sighs. "They, they get a little better and then they get worse."

 

"Just like Rebecca Adler did." Wilson realizes.

 

House lays a book on the table and opens to a page on tapeworms.

 

"In a typical case if you don't cook pork well enough you ingest live tapeworm larvae. They got these little hooks they grab onto your bowel, they live, they grow up, they reproduce."

 

"Reproduce? There's only got one lesion, and it's nowhere near her bowel." Chase sounds incredulous.

 

"That's because this is not a typical case. Tapeworm can produce 20 to 30,000 eggs a day. Guess where they go."

 

"Out."

 

"Not all of them. Unlike the larvae, the egg can pass right through the walls of the intestines and into the bloodstream. And where does the bloodstream go?"

 

"Everywhere."

 

"As long as it's healthy the immune system doesn't even know it's there. The worm builds a wall, uses secretions to shut down the body's immune response and control fluid flow. It's really kinda beautiful."

 

"As long as it's healthy, so what do we do? Call a vet and nurse the little guy back to health?"

 

"It's too late for that. It's dying, and as it dies this parasite loses the ability to control the host's defenses. The immune system wakes up and attacks the worm and everything starts to swell, and that is very bad for the brain."

 

"It could still be a hundred other things. The eosinophil count was normal.

 

"It's only abnormal in 30% of cases." Chase points out.

 

"Proving nothing." Wilson groans.

 

"No, no, no, no, you see, it fits, it's perfect!" House exclaims. "It explains everything."

 

"But it proves nothing."

 

"I can prove it by treating it."

 

"No, you can't. I was just with her, she doesn't want any more treatments, she doesn't want any more experiments, she wants to go home and die."

 

In Rebecca's room, at nighttime, House enters. He turns to the nurse before facing the patient.

 

"Will you excuse us, please?"

 

The nurse leaves.

 

"I'm Dr. House."

 

"It's good to meet you."

 

"You're being an idiot." He pauses to clear his throat. "You have a tapeworm in your brain, it's not pleasant, but if we don't do anything you'll be dead by the weekend."

 

"Have you actually seen the worm?"

 

"When you're all better I'll show you my diplomas."

 

"You were sure I had vasculitis too. Now I can't walk and I'm wearing a diaper. What's this treatment gonna do for me?"

 

"I'm not talking about a treatment; I'm talking about a cure. But because I might be wrong, you want to die."

 

"What made you a cripple?"

 

"I had an infarction."

 

"A heart attack?"

 

"It's what happens when the blood flow is obstructed. If it's in the heart it's a heart attack. If it's in the lungs it's a pulmonary embolism. If it's in the brain it's a stroke. I had it in my thigh muscles."

 

"Wasn't there something they could do?"

 

"There was plenty they could do if they made the right diagnosis, but the only symptom was the pain. Not many people get to experience muscle death."

 

"Did you think you were dying?" Rebecca asks tentatively.

 

"I hoped I was dying."

 

"So you hide in your office, refuse to see patients because you don't like the way people look at you. You feel cheated by life so now you're gonna get even with the world. You want me to fight this. Why? What makes you think

I'm so much better than you?"

 

"When you're scared, you'll turn into me."

 

"I just want to die with a little dignity."

 

"There's no such thing! Our bodies break down, sometimes when we're 90, sometimes before we're even born, but it always happens and there's never any dignity in it. I don't care if you can walk, see, wipe your own ass. It's always ugly, always. " He pauses with a heavy sigh. "You can live with dignity, we can't die with it."

 

It's Monday morning, and the students have a tutor from school at the hospital. He'll be working with them when they're not busy with the case. In the next room, the team is talking over Rebecca's treatment.

 

"No treatment."

 

"Maybe we can get a court order, override her wishes. Claim she doesn't have the capacity to make this decision." Foreman suggests.

 

"But she does."

 

"But we could claim that the illness made her mentally incompetent." Cameron finds it a problem.

 

"Pretty common result." Foreman is leaning toward Cameron's decision."

 

"That didn't happen here." House cuts in.

 

"He's not gonna do it," Wilson speaks on behalf of his best friend. "She's not just a file to him anymore. He respects her."

 

"So because you respect her, you're going to let her die?"

 

"I solved the case, my work is done." He starts to walk away, but he ceases at the door. "Patients always want proof, we're not making cars here, we don't give guarantees."

 

House continues walking, but Chase runs after.

 

"I think we can prove it's a worm. It's noninvasive, it's safe. I'm not completely sure but…"

 

House interrupts the Aussie. "Yeah, yeah, yeah what's the damn idea?"

 

"Have you ever seen a worm under an x-ray, a regular old no contrast 100-year-old technology x-ray? They light up like shotgun pellets. Just like on a contrast MRI."

 

"Which is the same thing as a CT scan, which we did, which proved nothing."

 

"Worm cysts is the same density as the cerebrospinal fluid, we're not going to see anything in her head, but Chase is right, he's right, we should x-ray her, but we don't x-ray her brain, we x-ray her leg, worms love thigh muscle. If she's got one in her head I guarantee you there's one in her leg."

 

An hour later, Rebecca is strapped on a table in a dark room. The student focuses on her leg and x-ray is taken.

 

Chase is studying the screen. "Hold still, Rebecca."

 

The worm eventually shows up. Around ten am, everyone is in Rebecca's hospital room.

 

"This here is a worm larva." Chase points to the x-ray of her leg.

 

"So, if it's in my leg, it's in my brain?"

 

"Are you looking for a guarantee? It's there, probably been there 6 to 10 years."

 

"Could I have more?"

 

"Probably. It's good news."

 

"What do we do now?"

 

"Now we get you better. Albendazole."

 

He hands her a cup with two pills in it.

 

Rebecca almost laughs as she accepts them. "Two pills?"

 

"Yeah, every day for at least a month with a meal."

 

"Two pills?"

 

Chase smiles. "Yeah, possible side effects include abdominal pain, nausea, headache, dizziness, fever, and hair loss. We'll probably make you keep taking the pills even if you get every one of those."

 

Rebecca smirks and then downs the pills. Downstairs, in House's office, Cameron is waiting for him.

 

"Why did you recruit me to work with you?"

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"Kinda hard to work for or even with a guy who doesn't respect you."

 

"Why?"

 

"Is that rhetorical?"

 

"No, it just seems that way because you can't think of an answer. Does it make a difference why I think I'm a jerk? The only thing that matters is what you think. Can you do the job?"

 

"You hired a black guy because he had a juvenile record."

 

"No, it wasn't a racial thing, I didn't see a black guy. I just saw a doctor…with a juvenile record. I hired Chase 'cause his dad made a phone call. I hired you because you are extremely pretty."

 

"You recruited me to get into my pants?!" She almost screams.

 

"I can't believe that that would shock you. It's also not what I said. No, I hired you because you look good; it's like having a nice piece of art in the lobby."

 

"I'm in the top of my class."

 

"But not THE top."

 

"I did an internship at the Mayo Clinic over the summer."

 

"Yes, you were a very good applicant."

 

"But not the best?"

 

"Would that upset you, really, to think that you were recruited because of some genetic gift of beauty not some genetic gift of intelligence?"

 

"I worked very hard to get where I am."Cameron pouts.

 

"But you didn't have to. People choose the paths that gain them the greatest rewards for the least amount of effort. That's a law of nature, and you defied it. That's why I recruited you. You could have been head cheerleader and married rich, could have been a model, you could have just shown up and people would have given you stuff. Lots of stuff, but you didn't, you worked your stunning little ass off."

 

"Am I supposed to be flattered?"

 

"Gorgeous women do not go to medical school. Unless they're as damaged as they are beautiful. Were you abused by a family member?"

 

"No!" She's appalled now.

 

"Sexually assaulted?" He keeps it up.

 

"No."

 

"But you are damaged, aren't you?"

 

Cameron hesitates, and at that moment her pager goes off.

 

Cameron leaves his office. Meanwhile, Lisa is in the clinic with the previously orange man who had been an exam room patient of House's.

 

"I followed her. I couldn't stop thinking about what that doctor said."

 

"I told you not to listen to him, he's an idiot." Cuddy shakes her head.

 

"I was ORANGE."

 

"I don't want to know what you found out."

 

"You don't care?"

 

"I'm your doctor, you've been good to me and good to this hospital, of course, I care, but I don't see how this conversation can end well for me. Either your wife is having an affair, or she's not having an affair and you have come here because you rightly think I should get him fired, but I can't even if it cost me your money, the son of a bitch is the best doctor we have."

 

In Rebecca's room, she is looking a lot better. Chase walks in smiling. She smiles back.

 

"Feeling any better?"

 

"I can't complain."

 

"As you know the hospital has certain rules, and as you also know we tend to ignore them, but I think this one's gonna be a little obvious unless we get your help."

 

Cameron then enters the room with Rebecca's class following close behind.

 

"If anyone asks, you have 11 daughters and 5 sons."

 

Rebecca looks relieved and happy. "Hi, you guys!"

 

The kindergarten class erupts in a lot of 'Hi Miss Rebecca's.

 

"Come here!" She laughs.

 

They gather around and on her bed and present her with a card.

 

"It's so good to see you guys! I missed you! Is this for me?"

 

Rebecca opens it and inside it says "Miss Rebecca we're glad you're not dead"

 

She laughs again. "Oh, I love you guys." She briefly turns her attention to Chase and Cameron. "I wanted to thank Dr. House, but he never visited again."

 

"He cured you, you didn't cure him." She answers politely.

 

Rebecca nods and then turns back to her class. "Ok, I want a hug and a kiss from every single one of you. Get up here right now!"

 

The kids giggle and laugh, climbing up to comply. In an empty room, Greg and James are eating evening machine snacks and watching a medical drama on a mini TV.

 

"You said she was your cousin. Why would you lie?"

 

James shrugs. "It got you to take the case."

 

"You lied to a friend to save a stranger, you don't think that's screwed up?"

 

"You've never lied to me?"

 

Greg smirks. "I  _NEVER_  lie."

 

"Oh, really."

 

The boys drop the conversation to pay more attention to their show. A male and a female doctor are on the screen, and the man sighs.

 

"Why do we do this?"

 

The woman then stares at him and reiterates the same line Lisa had used earlier. "Because we're doctors. When we make mistakes people die."

 

Greg smirks at the little revelation, but before he has long to reflect on it, there's a knock at the door. A college student nurse pops her head in.

 

"Dr. House? You have a patient."

 

She pulls the blinds away to reveal the guy that House gave the candy pills to.

 

"He says he needs a refill."

 

Greg smirks again, glancing over at James. "Got change for a dollar?"


	2. Paternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DNA Sampling; House is an ass; Thanksgiving with Wilson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’ve returned with the second episode. I’d like to thank the follower I’ve received from the first. This chapter is on 1.02 – Paternity. I’m watching it as I watch it, changing a bit here and there. I miss this show a lot. Here we go!
> 
> Notice from before stands to claim.

It’s been a week since the last aggravatingly interesting case. Now, Greg has been sacked with an incredible amount of clinic hours. James has been searching for him, and finally hits the clinic, where he’s told Dr. House has been with a patient in Exam Room Two… for the past thirty minutes.

“Hey!”  
  
”Close the door.” House mutters and then repeats in a louder voice. “Close the door!”  
  
”Is Cuddy down the hall counting to 50?”  
  
House sighs, “She’s knows I’m in here, the clinic, as she commanded; she just doesn’t know I’m alone.”  
  
Wilson smirks. “Well, you’ve got a full waiting room, how long do you think you can ignore them?”  
  
”I’m off at 4:00.”  
  
Wilson glances at his watch and scoffs. “You’re doing this to avoid 5 minutes of work?”  
  
House turns to face him with a grimace. “I go out there, I get assigned a kid with a runny nose. That’s 30 seconds looking at the nose; 25 minutes talking to a worried mom who won’t leave until she sure it’s not meningitis or a tumor.”  
  
Wilson shakes his head. “Yes, concerned parents can be so annoying. Just tell Cuddy you’ve got an urgent case, you had to leave early.”  
  
”That would be lying.”  
  
”And that would be wrong. But luckily, the definition of urgent is fungible.”  
  
He goes to leave, but his friend speaks up again.  
  
”Not the definition of case though.”  
  
James stops and looks back at Greg in shock.  
  
”You have no cases? You have _no_ cases. You’ve got handpicked doctor interns, specialists, working for you, and they’re sitting on their hands?”  
  
House shrugs. “Alison is answering my mail.”  
  
”Time well spent I’m sure. Eric and Chase?”  
  
”Research?” House tries.

“Really, Greg? Research? That the best you got?”

House just shrugs again. In the Diagnostics Medical offices and Alison is on a computer typing. Eric is tapping his fingers, bored, against the working desk, and Chase has a book of crossword puzzles open.  
  
”9 letters, iodine deficiency in children.” He calls out to anyone.  
  
”Cretinism” Eric informs him.  
  
”Huh.” Chase responds simply, filling in the space.  
  
House finally gets up to leave the exam room. He limps over to the check-out desk and talks to one of the nurses.  
  
”So, 4:03 PM. Dr. House checks out. Please write that down.”  
  
”Dr. House.” An urgent-looking man rushes over.  
  
”Sorry, done for the day.” He shakes his head, grabbing the cane. “There’s plenty of docs here to take care of you.”  
  
”But we had an appointment.”  
  
”Hah, nice try, but this is a walk-in clinic, which means there are no appointments.” Greg scoffs. “It means you walk in, sign the chart and a doctor will see you, just not me.”  
  
”But your letter says that we would see you.” He’s really persistent.  
  
”Not a big letter writer.” Greg tries to make his way to the door.  
  
”Here.”

 

The man thrusts a letter in Greg’s face. The teen nearly growls at the sight of the paper, and even more so on the signed name at the bottom. With only one suspect in mind, Greg wheels around to the elevator. He directs a couple nurses to situate the father and son in an exam room, and then he barges into his office. One student is inside.  
  
”When did my signature get so girly?”  
  
”I can explain.” Cameron winces.  
  
”See that “G”, see how it makes a big loop on top?” Greg growls this time. “It doesn’t even look like my handwriting. Think I have something? What’s the differential diagnosis for writing “G’s” like a junior high school girl?”  
  
”It’s impossible to get to you through normal channels, they have called…”  
  
House cuts her off. “Perseverance does not equal worthiness. Next time you want to get my attention wear something fun. Low-rider jeans are hot.”  
  
Cameron shakes her head. “Thirteen year old male, sudden onset of double vision and night terrors, with no apparent cause. The kid’s been to two neurologists…”  


“Night terrors, yeah? As in big scary monsters?”  
  
”Yeah.”  
  
House gets up and grabs his cane, limping angrily out the door.  
  
”Where are you going?”  
  
”To see the family.”  
  
Cameron is shocked, making House feel slightly better. “You’re going to examine a patient?”  
  
”Nine times out of ten there’s no reason to talk to a patient, but night terrors in a thirteen year old is a _very_ good reason to talk to this family.” He answers smugly. “Good work.”  
  
In the aforementioned exam room, Dr. House joins the patient and parents. Quickly, he begins examining the patient – named Dan. Cameron follows, lingering at the door.  
  
”Margins look fine. No lesions, color is good. How long have you been having night terrors?”  
  
”Three weeks.”  
  
”He’s afraid to go to bed, he’s exhausted, he can barely function.” His dad adds.  
  
House flicks at both of Dan’s eyes.  
  
”What does that tell you?” His mom questions House expectantly, given that he’s only nearly six years older than her son.  
  
”Nothing, it’s just fun watching him blink.” He answers with attitude before turning to the younger teen. “Name as many animals as you can that begin with the letter “B” go.”  
  
After a long pause, Dan finally speaks. “Baby elephant.”  
  
”Baby elephant is actually a good answer; “B” is a bear of a letter.” House rolls his eyes.  
  
”What does that tell you?” His dad asks now.  
  
”Proves two things, no neurological damage, and your son is never going to be chief fry cook. In teens there are two likely causes of night terrors: post traumatic stress, any recent shootouts at your high school?”  
  
”No.”  
  
”Well, then, Dave…”  
  
”Dan.” Cameron corrects.  
  
”…if there’s no trauma the other cause is sexual abuse. So, who’s molesting you? Teacher, extra friendly neighbor? I’d ask if either one of you were involved, but you’d deny it.”  
  
”We would never do anything to hurt Dan.” His dad sounds appalled.  
  
”I say it here, it comes out there. This lack of response is consistent with abuse.”  
  
”There’s no one, ok? I swear. There was trauma; I got hit in the head during a lacrosse game.”  
  
House turns to Cameron. “Did you know that he got hit in the head?”  
  
”They didn’t mention it, no.”  
  
”Yeah, why bother.” House mutters sarcastically.  
  
House leaves, and they all follow. The dad speaks up first.  
  
”No, no, we took him to the ER after the game. He was scanned, they tested him, they said he was fine. No concussion, it’s gotta be something else.”  
  
”You hound me for my opinion and then question my diagnosis. Cool. ER obviously screwed up, kid’s got a concussion.”  
  
Dan speaks up then. “I had double vision before I got hit.”  
  
”Well, that changes everything, you need glasses. That’s why you had double vision, which is why you got hit, which is why you have a concussion, which is why you have night terrors. You need to see an ophthalmologist, which I am not.”

 

House and Cameron leave the family behind. Cameron turns to House. “You enjoyed that. I brought a reasonable case to your attention, and you shoved it in my face just to humiliate me.”  
  
”You’re an only child, aren’t you?”  
  
”Why would you say that?”  
  
”Everything is about you. This may seem incredibly controversial, but I think sexual abuse is bad. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t being diddled by daddy, or mommy, anything else is just a bonus.”  
  
A knocking sound comes from the reception area. House cranes his neck and looks over. He sees that Dan’s leg is spasming.  
  
”I’m not an only child.”  
  
House doesn’t hear her; his attention is focused on Dan “Interesting.”  
  
He goes back out to Dan and his parents. Cameron is confused but follows.  
  
”What?” She questions, getting no answer.  
  
House questions the thirteen year old. “Don’t move. Did I bore you in there?”  
  
”What?” Dan looks up. “Ah, no, not, not really.”  
  
”Are you tired?”  
  
”Sometimes.”  
  
”He never sleeps!” His dad raises his eyebrows. “Of course he’s tired.”  
  
House rolls his eyes. “Right now, at this moment, are you tired?”  
  
”No, no.”  
  
”That twitch in your leg. Did you feel that?”  
  
”Didn’t hurt.”  
  
”His leg twitched.” His dad waves vaguely. “I don’t see what…”  
  
House interrupts. “It’s called a myoclonic jerk, it’s very common when you’re falling asleep. Respiration rate falls, and the brain interprets this as the body dying, so it sends a pulse to wake it up.”  
  
”So?”  
  
”So, he’s not asleep, he’s awake.” Intrigued, he turns to Cameron. “Admit him.”  
  
House pages Foreman (who had been chatting with some nurses in the pediatrics ward) and Chase (who had been taking on extra hours in the ER) to his office. When they arrive, House is seating, twirling his cane. Cameron is writing on the white board. They take a seat as Cameron finishes listing off Dan’s symptoms.  
  
”I recognize that loopy “G”. So, what does the jerk tell us?”  
  
Foreman is first to open his mouth. “Nothing good, the brain’s losing control of the body. Can’t order the eyes to focus, regulate sleep patterns or control muscle movements.”  
  
”A movement disorder, or degenerative brain disease. Either way this kid’s gonna be picking up his diploma in diapers and a wheelchair.”  
  
Chase shakes his head. “Maybe not that bad, could be an infection.”  
  
”You wish. No fever, no white count. Anyone think this differential diagnosis might be compromised because we don’t have an accurate family history?”  
  
Cameron pouts. “I took an accurate family history.”  
  
House scoffs. “You didn’t even take an accurate family. His father’s not his father.”  
  
Chase challenges him. “Why would you say that?”  
  
”Thirty percent of all dads out there don’t realize they’re raising someone else’s kid.”  
  
Foreman frowns. “From what I’ve read false paternity is more like ten percent.”  
  
”That’s what our moms would like us to believe.”  
  
Cameron crosses her arms. “Who cares? If he got it from his parents they’d both be dead by now, can we get on with the differential diagnosis?”  
  
”Fifty bucks says I’m right.”  
  
Foreman is up for it. “I’ll take your money.”  
  
”Hit a nerve?” House grins patronizingly. “Don’t worry, Eric. I’m sure the guy who tucked you in at night was your daddy.”  
  
”Make it a hundred dollars.”  
  
”What about leukoencephalopathy? In a thirteen year old.” Cameron urges the boys back to the case.  
  
Chase sighs. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be that bad. If we exclude the night terrors it could be something systemic: his liver, kidneys, something outside the brain.”  
  
”Yes, feel free to exclude any symptom if it makes your job easier.”  
  
”The night terrors were anecdotal. He could have had a bad dream.”  
  
Cameron shakes her head. “No, parents said he was conscious during the event and didn’t remember anything afterwards. That’s a night terror.”  
  
Chase catches something. “Parents said?”  
  
House nods. “That’s a good point. Before we condemn this kid, maybe we should entertain Dr. Chase’s skepticism. I want a detailed polysomnograph. If he’s having night terrors I want to see them.”  
  
A few hours later, Dan is in an isolation room. He is covered in wires, tubes and other medical stuff. Foreman is typing on a computer and monitoring Dan. House comes into the room with a tray on wheels. The thirteen year old sits up and is obviously scared. House tightens the restraints that are on Dan’s arms.  
  
”I usually don’t move during night terrors.”  
  
House frowns. “I’m not restraining you for them. EEG revealed abnormalities in your brain caused by nerve damage in your toes.”  
  
House starts to draw a line around the base of Dan’s big toe, and the younger teen begins to whimper. Foreman is no longer in the room.  
  
”What are you doing?” He’s near to tears.  
  
”Fixing it.” House grins spitefully.  
  
”C-C-Can I talk to my parents?” He stutters in fear.  


“Oh, they know all about this.”  
  
”I-I-I’d really like to see them. P-Please! I’d really like them here.”  
  
House pointedly ignores him. “This is gonna hurt, Dan. “  
  
House takes up a big tool that looks like monster wire cutters and starts to cut off Dan’s big toe. The younger teen is terrified and begins to scream. He throws his head back, writhing in pain as the loud bone-cutting crunching noises erupt from the area by his feet. Suddenly, the restraints are gone. All four doctors are in the room, but no one is around his feet. His eyes are wide open, still screeching. Chase looks over to a monitor with a shocked look on his face.  
  
”That’s a night terror.”

 

It is Tuesday morning and all the student doctors are exempt from school. There is an understanding with the school administration and the hospital administration. They’ve been working through the night, trying to fix this kid – who is only two years younger than Foreman and Chase, and only one year younger than Cameron. The doctors are back in House’s office, tiredly sitting at the long desk.

 

“We did a CT, MRI, CBC, Chem-7 and chest x-ray. All the tests came back normal.” Foreman sounds confused. “There’s nothing to explain his symptoms.”  
  
”Okay, but let’s pretend there’s something and go from there.” House rubs his eyes. “Who sees something on this MRI?”  
  
”No lesions, no white matter.”  
  
”No structural abnormalities.”  
  
”No space-occupying tumors.”  
  
House stares intently. “He’s thirteen, so he should have an absolutely pristine brain. The smallest thing is abnormal.”  
  
”Meningeal enhancement.” Chase offers. “My bet is viral meningitis.”  
  
”Excellent, you see what he did there? He took a small clue that there’s a neurological problem and wasn’t afraid to run with it.”  
  
Foreman sighs. “There’s no evidence of meningitis on that MRI.”  
  
”No, there’s not, he's completely wrong.”  
  
Cameron looks over to him. “Then what clue are you talking about?”  
  
”He knew that I saw something on the MRI so he figured there must be something there and took a guess. Clever, but also pathetic.”  
  
”So, what did you find?”  
  
”Take a close look at the corpus callosum.”  
  
”It looks okay.”  
  
”Are we all looking at the same thing? Two hundred million interhemispheric nerve fibers, the George Washington Bridge between the left and right side of the brain. It’s subtle.”  
  
The ducklings move closer to look at the MRI. Chase points at the screen.  
  
”There’s some bowing, there. An upward arch.”  
  
”Are you guessing?”  
  
”Yes.”  
  
”Too bad, you’re right.”  
  
Foreman groans. “He probably just moved, nobody stays perfectly still for their entire MRI.”  
  
”Yeah, he probably got restless and shifted one hemisphere of his brain to a more comfortable position.” House answers. “Something is pushing on it.”  
  
”If there’s bowing it could be a tumor.”  
  
”Do you see a tumor on this MRI?”  
  
”No, but I don’t see any bowing, either.”  
  
”There’s no tumor, just a blockage causing pressure, causing symptoms. Today: night terrors, tomorrow he’s bleeding out of his eyes. Get him a radionucleotide cisternogram. I guarantee you’ll see a blockage.”  
  
A few hours later, Foreman and Chase have had naps under House’s guard. Cameron is enjoying her nap now, while Foreman is in Dan’s room. He places an extraordinarily large needle in the younger teen’s back. This seems to be causing Dan a lot of pain, and his Dad is holding him while he grunts and groans.  
  
”Ok…all right easy…” His dad continues to whisper to his son.  
  
”Now, I’m injecting a material that’s tagged with a radioactive isotope. It’s gonna enter your spine and travel up to your brain. It’ll make you able to think deep thoughts, at about 100 miles per hour.”  
  
His dad continues to whisper, assuring Dan that he’s okay Foreman is checking out the Dad and Dan, trying to prove that the guy really is Dan’s dad. He sees that they both have a strange fleck in their irises. When he gets done with the tests, he lets the family be together. The tall black teen then walks back to the testing lab with news.  
  
”Their eyes aren’t the same color, but that fleck in the eyes… that’s maybe a one in ten chance if they’re not related?”  
  
Chase waves his hand. “Nah, House isn’t gonna pay you based on that.”  
  
Foreman chuckles. “Any excuse we can give the folks to justify a DNA test?”  
  
”We could tell them he’s got Huntington’s. The whole family should be tested or they’ll all die.”  
  
Foreman chuckles again. He looks up to see House approaching.  
  
”Hey, there’s a lot of blockage.”  
  
”I’ve scheduled him for surgery.” Chase adds. “They’re gonna put a shunt into one of the ventricles to give the cerebrospinal fluid an out.”  
  
”No more pressure, everything goes back to normal.”  
  
House smirks. “He’s lucky to have you as his doctors.”  
  
House walks away, leaving Foreman and Chase to their duties. He’d woken Cameron up a few minutes ago and she’s busy with her own part in the case. House is in an exam room – against his will – with a young mother and her baby.  
  
”No formula, just mommy’s healthy natural breast milk.” The young woman, Karen, is explaining.  
  
House’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yummy.”  
  
”Her whole face just got swollen like this overnight.”  
  
”Mm-hmm. No fever, glands normal, missing her vaccination dates.”  
  
Karen shifts. “We’re not vaccinating.”  
  
Her baby giggles and coos in her mom’s arms. Karen holds up a toy frog and makes sounds that the child finds hilarious.  
  
” Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit.”  
  
House winces at the stupidity. “Think they don’t work?”  
  
”I think some multinational pharmaceutical company wants me to think they work. Pad their bottom line.”  
  
”Mmmm.” He nods. “May I?” He reaches for the frog, playing the gribbit noise with the baby. Karen nods confusingly while her baby laughs.  
  
”All natural, no dyes. That’s a good business: all-natural children’s toys. Those toy companies, they don’t arbitrarily mark up their frogs. They don’t lie about how much they spend on research and development. The worst a toy company can be accused of is making a really boring frog.” House concedes as he chuckles politely. Karen smiles and her baby giggles again.  
  
  
”Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit. You know another really good business?” His lighthearted joking façade breaks, though he continues to play with the frog – albeit away from the baby now. “Teeny tiny baby coffins. You can get them in frog green or fire engine red. Really. The antibodies in yummy mummy only protect the kid for 6 months, which is why these companies think they can gouge you. They think that you’ll spend whatever they ask to keep your kid alive. Want to change things? Prove them wrong. A few hundred parents like you decide they’d rather let their kid die then cough up 40 bucks for a vaccination, believe me, prices will drop _really_ fast. Gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit, gribbit.”  
  
Karen’s eyes widen, snatching the toy back. “Tell me what she has.”  
  
”A cold.”  
  
House gratefully leaves the clinic after sitting through that debacle. The ducklings all approach, and walk with House.  
  
”There’s a problem.” Cameron complains.  
  
House raises a slightly concerned eyebrow. “Complications in surgery?”  
  
”Surgery went fine, he’s in recovery, but we took a vial of CSF and tested it.” Foreman responds.  
  
”Really?”  
  
”Turns out the bowing wasn’t the cause of his problems, it was a symptom.”  
  
It’s Chase’s turn to add, “Oligoclonal bands, and an increase of intrathecal IGG.”  
  
”Which means multiple sclerosis.” House pauses, turning around in the hall to face them. “And the reason it takes three of you to tell me this?”  
  
Cameron looks between Chase and Foreman. “Because we’re having a disagreement about whether or not it is MS.”  
  
Chase puts in, “No lesions on the MRI.”  
  
Foreman scoffs. “It’s early; he’s had the disease for maybe two weeks.”  
  
Cameron groans. “McDonald criteria requires six months to make a definitive diagnosis.”  
  
”Oh, who cares about McPherson?” House starts walking again. “I hear he tortured kittens.”  
  
”McDonald.”  
  
”Oh, McDonald. Wonderful doctor, loved kittens.”  
  
”The VEP indicates slowing of the brain.”  
  
”Without the lesions we can’t be sure.”  
  
”Well if it is, it’s gone from 0 to 60 in three weeks, which would indicate rapidly progressive MS. Not the fun MS with the balloons and the bike rides for cripples in wheelchairs.”  
  
”We should wait until we”  
  
House cuts her off. “Start treating him now, he can walk for another couple of years, maybe live for another 5. Break it to the family. I’m going home.”  
  
Chase heads to Dan’s room. He’s there to explain the whole MS thing.  
  
”It’ll take months for a definitive diagnosis.”  
  
”What’ll happen to me?”  
  
”MS is an incredibly variable disease, if it is MS, and we’re not 100% sure. “  
  
”What do you think is gonna happen?”  
  
After a long pause, Chase replies. “There are some medications to manage the symptoms, but as the disease progresses the problems will become more severe: bowel and bladder dysfunction, loss of cognitive function, pain.”  
  
”It’s gonna hurt?”  
  
”The brain’s like a big jumble of wires. MS strips them of the insulation, and the nerves die. The brain interprets it as pain, but by starting treatment we’re gonna avoid that for as long as possible. We’re looking into a couple specialists, and until we get you squared away you’ll stay here. Okay?”  
  
At six at night, a nurse is walking around with trays. The nurse enters Dan’s room, and he’s missing. She alerts the team handling the case, and the hospital is slowly shutting down.  
  
”Security checked the videotapes for all the perimeter cameras; he’s still gotta be in the hospital.” Cameron runs over to Foerman.  
  
”Where’s Chase?”  
  
”Main floor.”  
  
”Okay, you take the cafeteria and administration. I’ll hit the research annex and work my way back to you.”  
  
Chase is wandering around in a dark office, while Foreman is with security and Cameron is opening doors. Meanwhile, in Greg apartment, he’s sitting in a chair brooding. There’s a TV show on in the background, but he isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. His mom had called earlier and, after listening to the message, Greg has no reason to do anything. The phone keeps ringing and he pays it no attention except to glance over at the first ring. He has a beer sitting on the table at the edge of his couch, but he’s made no move to touch it. A little orange bottle with a white cap sits by it. There’s six pills missing and it was only refilled yesterday. He feels a little guilt staring at the bottle, but ultimately ignores everything. The machine clicks on, instructing callers to leave a message, but Greg has already lifted himself out of the chair. He’s gotten his jacket on and his keys are in his pocket. He shuts the door as a voice begins to tell him what he’s already expected. As he drives, he turns from brooding Greg to cynical House.   
  
House approaches the double doors as Cuddy is leaving. She looks up surprised.  
  
”Dr. Cuddy, great outfit.”  
  
”What are you doing back here? Patient?”  
  
”No, refill. My damn leg.”

 

“Greg, you just got a refill yesterday.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Psych meds.” He nods. “Helps me bend the truth. Like saying ‘great outfit’.”

 

House walks off and Lisa leaves a little pissed off.  
  
House steps directly to the elevator after re-checking in. The doors open and House steps out. He heads down a hallway, and is intercepted by Foreman.  
  
”Dr. House, Dan’s missing.”  
  
”Yeah, I got that part from the message.” He guesses, knowing they wouldn’t call if he wasn’t needed. “You said I was needed immediately.”  
  
”He shouldn’t move after a lumbar puncture.”  
  
”I agree, he’s gonna have a very nasty headache. That would also be my opinion if consulted tomorrow morning.”  
  
”We wanted to keep you informed. He heard some pretty heavy news.”  
  
House sighs. “This is not a toddler wandering around a department store. He’s thirteen. You’ll find him. I’m going home.”  
  
”So, when you say “Call me if you need anything,” You mean, “Don’t call me”.”  
  
”No, I mean “Call me if I can do something.” I’m bad at search parties and I’m bad at sitting around looking nervous doing nothing.”  
  
”What about his parents? Should we call them?”  
  
”Why? You think they’re hiding him? Make sure someone checks the roof; some of the orderlies keep the door propped open so they can grab a smoke.”  
  
He gets back into the elevator and leaves the hospital. Foreman and Cameron run up the stairs. Dan is standing there looking around, when Chase carefully walks up.  
  
”Dan? You ok?” He pauses to catch his breath. “There are experimental treatments, ongoing research… Who knows what they’ll discover in a year or two?”  
  
”This is where I dropped the ball.” He ignores the doctor, imaging the middle school football field.  
  
”Dan, we’re standing on the roof of the hospital! Dan! Dan, you’re not on the field!”  
  
Foreman and Cameron have arrived. Foreman looks apprehensive and Cameron looks extremely worried. She comes to a realization.  
  
”He doesn’t know where he is.”  
  
”Dan!”  
  
”Foreman!” Chase calls out quietly, motioning that Foreman shouldn’t move just yet.  
  
Chase moves slightly closer. “Dan.”  
  
Cameron calls out as well, when Dan nears the edge. “Dan!”  
  
”Dan! No!” Foreman stays rooted to his spot, though.  
  
Dan goes to step off the roof, and Chase tackles him. The next morning is Wednesday. Foreman is walking down the steps to catch House, while Cameron and Chase are meeting with their tutor. Foreman finds House waiting for the elevator, as expected.  
  
”Dr. Foreman. I assume you found the kid.”  


“He almost walked off the roof.”  
  
”Suicidal?”  
  
”No, he thought he was on his lacrosse field. Look, look, I was just gonna run home, shower, change…” He could go on but House interrupts him.

  
”Conscious?”  
  
”Yeah.”  
  
”How’d you talk him down?”  
  
”Actually, Chase tackled him.”  
  
House smirks at the sight. “How come you didn’t do it?”  
  
”Right, well, I am black, but he was closer.”  
  
”Alright, go on and shower. Just be back by lunch.”  
  
Eric nods by means of thanks. He checks out and leaves the hospital. House goes up to his office and finds Cameron and Chase there with their tutor, going over physical science.  
  
”Anybody tell the family that their boy almost stepped off a roof? They must be thrilled.”  
  
Cameron places her pen down. “They’re not suing, but I think only because Chase asked them.”  
  
”Why does everyone always think I’m being sarcastic? This is great news! He doesn’t have MS. The parents should be thrilled, well, the mom anyway. Of course, the dad probably doesn’t know…” He trails off.  
  
”Why doesn’t he have MS?” Chase questions, setting his pen down as well.  


”He was on the roof thinking he was on the lacrosse field, conscious, and therefore not a night terror.” He moves to the drinks and looks back at the adolescents. “You want some of this?”  


“Yeah, sure.” Chase is grateful.

 

“Yeah, thanks.”  
  
House continues with the case as he makes three coffees. “He was in an acute confusional state, which doesn’t fit with a demyelinating disease like MS.”  
  
”The oligoclonal bands.” Cameron picks out.  
  
”Were real. They just mean something other then MS. So, what are they telling us?”  
  
”That the immune system is working.” She adds.  
  
”Right, he has an infection in his brain.”  
  
”What about sex?” Chase proposes.  
  
”Well, it might get complicated. We work together. I am older, certainly, but maybe you like that.”  
  
Chase blushes. “I meant maybe he has neurosyphilis.”  
  
”Heh, nice cover.”  
  
”Sorry,” Cameron shakes her head. “RPR was negative.”  
  
”We don’t need a definitive test to confirm this.” He hands two coffees out, and then moves back to grab his own.  
  
”Sure, didn’t need one to confirm MS.”  
  
”Okay, let’s wait for you to run titers on 4000 viruses while this kid’s brain turns to mush.”  
  
”So the fact that he doesn’t have MS is, it’s really not good news after all?”  
  
”Well, it is if it’s neurosyphilis, the likelihood of a false negative on an RPR test, 30%, the likelihood of a thirteen year old having sex, roughly 120%.”  
  
”I’ll start him on IV penicillin.”  
  
”We’re not going to wait for that. The most effective way to deliver the drug is right into his brain via the spine.”  
  
”We can’t. In a cramped space like the brain, increased intracranial pressure from a high-volume drug like penicillin could herniate his brain stem and kill him.” Cameron stands up. “No neurologist in his right mind would recommend that.”  
  
House turns around carefully, eying the duo as well as the awkwardly sitting tutor. “Show of hands. Who thinks I’m not in my right mind?”  
  
No one raises their hand.

   
”And who thinks I forget this fairly basic neurological fact?”  
  
Again, no one raises their hand.  


“Who thinks there’s a third option?”  
  
Chase raises his hand.  


“Very good, what’s the third choice?”  
  
”No idea, you just asked if I thought there was one.”  
  
Cameron sighs. “The patient has a shunt in his brain. There’ll be no increased pressure, we can put as much penicillin into his body as we want.”  


“Excellent, inject him through a lumbar puncture.”  
  
In Dan’s room, Dan’s dad Aaron is there too. Chase has him curls in the fetal position to inject him like discussed.  
  
”One of us is going to do this to you twice a day for the next two weeks.”  
  
Dan sighs and his dad speaks up. “He could get syphilis even if he’s not sexually active?”  
  
Dan looks at Chase with sort of a pleading look on his face.  
  
”Well, it’s unusual, but it’s possible. Relax.”  
  
Dan sighs again, and then grunts in pain. It’s almost lunchtime and House in unfortunately in an exam room in the free clinic. There’s a guy with a really nasty pussy abscess on his knee. House backs off after he sees it.  
  
”Geesh. It’s infected, with a really big hole like you stuck a nail in it to relieve the pressure.”  
  
The patient, Mr. Funsten, squirms. “I wouldn’t do that.”  
  
”Although the wound is irregular, not cylindrical, it’s shaped like a triangle, so not a nail. Steak knife?”  
  
He looks down. “Wife’s nail file.”  
  
”Nail File.” House whispers before peaking normal. “Yeah, pain’ll make you do stupid things. Something to take the edge off?”

 

He takes out his pain pills and puts one in the patient’s hand. Mr. Funsten takes it warily and ‘cheers’ with House. The teen doctor dry swallows said pill, while Mr. Funsten chews his. House limps back over to the wheeled stool and takes a seat.  


“So, do you have family here in Princeton?”  
  
”No.”  
  
”Here on work?”  
  
”No, why are you”  


“Does your penis hurt?”  
  
”No.” He eyes the pocket where House had placed the pill bottle. “What? Should it?”  
  
”No, just thought I’d toss you a really inappropriate question. Your lawyer’s gonna love it.”  
  
”Why would I want to sue you? I want you to treat me.”  


“You’re from Maplewood, New Jersey. Right?”  
  
”Yeah.”  
  
”Now, why would you drive seventy miles to get treatment for a condition that a nine year old could diagnose? It’s the free-flowing pus that’s the tip-off.”  
  
”I was in town.”  
  
”Not for family, not for work. You drove seventy miles to a walk-in-clinic. You passed two hospitals on the road. Now, either you have a problem with those hospitals, or they have a problem with you. My guess is that you’ve sued half the doctors in Maplewood, and the rest are now refusing to treat you. It’s ironic, isn’t it? It’s like the boy who sued wolf. You know what? I bet we have a doctor here named Wolfe. How perfect would that be? I’m gonna page him.”  
  
”Okay, you know what?” Mr. Funsten stands then. “Thank you, I’m gonna find a doctor to take care of this.”  
  
”I didn’t say I wouldn’t treat you. We’ll drain your knee, run some lab work, fix you right up.”  
  
”Why would you do that?”  
  
”I’m a people person.”  
  
After dealing with the man, House runs into Wilson at the elevator. House relegates the whole ordeal. Wilson is shocked as they exit.  
  
”You actually treated him?”  
  
”All I know is that he sued some doctors, who am I to assume that they didn’t have it coming to them.” He stops in the hall when he sees Cuddy coming.

 

“The cutest little tennis outfit, my God I thought I was going to have a heart attack.” He switches tactics, acting like he just realized that Cuddy was there. “Oh my, I didn’t see you there, that is so embarrassing.”  
  
Cuddy only smirks. “How’s your hooker doing?”  
  
”Oh, sweet of you to ask, funny story, she was going to be a hospital administrator, but hated having to screw people like that.”  
  
”I heard you found her on the roof.”  
  
”You have very acute hearing.” House raises an eyebrow.  
  
“You notify the parents?”  
  
”In due course, of course.”  
  
“And is there a paternity bet on the father of the patient?”  
  
”Doesn’t sound like me.”  
  
Wilson chimes in. “Well, it does actually, but that doesn’t mean you’re guilty.”  
  
”You think?”  
  
“I saw the parents in the lobby, smart money is obviously on the father.” Cuddy smirks then.  


In a stage whisper, House leans in to Cuddy. “My guy knows a guy who can get you in for $50 bucks.”  
  
“Fine. You tell your guy if I win, you attend the faculty symposium and you wear a tie.”  
  
”And if I win, no clinic hours for a week.”  
  
“My guy will call your guy.”  
  
Cuddy walks off, leaving House and Wilson grinning in the hall.  
  
Wilson nudges House’s arm. “She’s very good at her job.”  
  
 In Dan’s room, Chase is giving him his treatment; and Cameron is at his head.  
  
”The treatments should start helping soon. Let us know if it gets easier to focus on things, remember stuff.”  
  
Dan is obviously in pain, and Chase tries to get his mind on something else.

   
”Hey Dan, isn’t Dr. Cameron’s necklace a beauty? Something South American, I think.”  
  
”Yeah, Guatemalan.” She smiles.  
  
”It’s a cool necklace.”  
  
She looks down and sees that it’s in a very revealing spot.  
  
”Thank you so much.” She scoffs to Chase.  
  
”The kid’s in pain.”  
  
  _Don’t fight it. Just let it happen._ Dan zones out, listening to the voices in his head.  
  
”No.”  
  
Chase stops. “No, what?”  
  
  _You’ll be dead in three days._ _I give it a day._  
  
Chase and Cameron are worried for the thirteen-year-old patient, more so when he starts shaking and spasming. Cameron realizes he’s hearing voices, and Chase calls in some nurses to help.  
  
Dan screams. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”  
  
It is past lunchtime now. Foreman is well-rested and has met with his tutor. Chase and Cameron have also finished their segments with the tutor. All three are now with House in his office, working though differential diagnosis.  
  
”Auditory hallucination shows further brain degeneration.” Cameron bites her lip.  
  
Chase shakes his head. “Penicillin’s not working.”  
  
”So, either it’s a bad batch of penicillin, or our diagnosis is wrong. Square one. “Midnight”.”  
  
House gets up and writes M, I,D,N,I,T on the white board.  
  
Foreman starts it up. “LFTs, BUN, and creatinine, are all normal, diabetes is out. No gap.”  
  
”There goes metabolic.” House crosses off “M”.  
  
Cameron’s turn. “MRI rules out vasculitis.”  


“That’s “I” for inflammation.” He crosses out the “I”.  
  
”Too young for anything degenerative.” Chase smacks his lips.  
  
”Okay. “D”, see ya.” He crosses out the “D”. “What of  “N” for neoplastic?”  
  
Chase shakes his head. “MRI was clean.”  
  
House crosses out the “N”.  
  
”There’s “I” for inflammation.”  
  
”We already did that.”  


“Stupid to have two I’s in one pneumonic. What’s the other one?”  
  
”Infection.”  
  
”Oligoclonal bands still have to mean something.”  
  
”But no fevers; white count’s elevated but within range.”  
  
”And we’ve tested for anything remotely possible. Everything is negative.”  
  
House crosses out the other “I”.  
  
”CT scan rules out subdural.”  
  
”Trauma, later much.” House then looks at the board which is now all crossed out.

 

“You know the problem? Midnight is actually spelled with a “G” and an “H,” If we could just figure out what those two letters stand for.” He sighs in defeat and walks away from the board.

 

With his back now facing the ducklings, he continues. “It’s a sick brain, having fun, torturing him, talking to him.” He pauses. “Scaring the hell out of him. Get him an EEG, left and right EOG esophageal microphones. If this thing wants to talk, let’s listen.”  
  
The ducklings go off and House moves to sit outside with Wilson. _Good ol’ Wilson. I can always come to him for help, and he doesn’t make me say it._  
  
”We’re missing something. This is screwed up.”  
  
”That’s why you came up with the brain talking to the virus thing?”  
  
”I panicked, okay? Sounded cool though, they bought it.”  
  
House sees Dan’s parents walking his way, and he groans audibly.  


“Oh, crap. Another reason I don’t like meeting patients. If they don’t know what you look like they can’t yell at you. Here we go.”  
  
Dan’s mom, Erica, squeals. “How can you just sit there?”  


“If I eat standing up, I spill.” He remarks sarcastically.  
  
Aaron steps up. “Our son is dying, and you could care less? We’re going through hell; you’re doing nothing?”  
  
”I’m sorry, you need to vent, I understand.”  
  
”Don’t be condescending. You haven’t checked in on him once.”  
  
In a smug breath, he recites everything he knows about Dan’s condition. “Blood pressure’s 110/70, the shunt is patent well placed in the right lateral ventricle, the EKG shows a normal QRS with deep wave inversions throughout both limb and pericardial leads. LFTs are elevated but only twice the normal range. Oh yeah, and he’s hearing voices.” He pauses. “Go hold his hand. Go on; I’ll bus your tray.”  
  
Shocked, they walk off holding hands. Wilson is noticeably impressed, but he says nothing.  
  
”Got any sample bags on you?”  
  
Wilson’s eyes widen then. “I don’t believe you. You’re gonna run DNA tests?”  
  
”Their son is deathly ill, I know it’s terrible, but the fact is if I don’t keep busy with trivial things like this I’m afraid I might start to cry.”  
  
”You’re an ass.” Wilson rolls his eyes.  
  
”Yeah? You want to double the bet?”

 

Against his better judgement, Wilson nods. House grins and leaves to a specific lab. He finds Cameron and Foreman inside, working on the tests.  
  
”General Hospital is on channel 6.”  
  
Foreman turns his head. “Dan’s brain’s not showing channel 6 right now, only mush.”  
  
”No epileptiform activity.” He turns to Cameron. “What are you doing?”  
  
”Waiting for CBC and Chem-7.”  


“Good.” House remarks as he puts down two cups that are labeled “Mommy” and “Daddy???”. “Run DNA on these.”  
  
”What’s this?”  
  
”Parents’ coffee cups.”  
  
”I can’t believe you”  
  
House interrupts impatiently. “I’ve had this conversation once already. If you’ve got something else to do, do it. Otherwise, do this.”  
  
House leaves and starts down the hallway.  
  
”Dr. House?” Mr. Funsten, the patient from before in the clinic runs up.  
  
”Hey, Mr. Funsten!” He stops, calling out with false enthusiasm. “I was wondering when you’d be back. Got some papers for me?”  
  
”You’ve caused me considerable mental distress.”  
  
”I certainly hope so.” Mr. Funsten hands him an envelope. “What? Too cheap to have your lawyer serve it for you, or is it more fun this way?”  
  
”I’m obviously prepared to consider a settlement.”  
  
”You have gonorrhea.”  
  
”No, I don’t!”  
  
House starts walking, aware Mr. Funsten is following him. “Well, maybe you’re right, but I have a lab result that says you do. It could be a false positive; normally I’d run a second test, but since you’re here I’ll just go with the first. “  
  
”You’re just trying to scare me.”  
  
”It’s reportable you know, a public health issue.”  


“I’ll be sure to let my wife know.”  
  
”Oh, don’t bother yourself, the state will call for you. Look, if you’re clean I’m sure this will all blow over, no big deal. There’s an easy way to find out, get one of your doctors to run a test.”

  
Mr. Funsten grabs for the papers, but House snatches them away.  
  
”Uh-uh. These are mine now.” He calls out in excitement. “I’ll see you in court.” With that, he enters the elevator they’ve walked to.  
  
Back in the lab, the ducklings are trying to prove positive or negative tests.  
  
Foreman comes up first. “West Nile negative, not surprising, since not too many mosquitoes passing through Jersey in December.”  
  
”No Eastern Equine Encephalitis.” Chase throws his hands up.  
  
”You guys aren’t going to believe this,” Cameron calls.  
  
”What’s that?”  
  
”House was right, the father’s not the father.”  
  
Foreman sighs. “Dude doubled up on me.”  
  
”You’re not gonna believe this, the mother’s not the mother either.”

 

The ducklings page House with the news. Immediately, he is outraged. In Cuddy’s office, she’s talking with Aaron and Erica.  
  
“It’s not a good idea to move your son in his condition.”  
  
”We just want a second opinion,” Erica informs Cuddy.  
  
”We need an answer.”  
  
House barges in, singling out the parents. “You idiots! You lied to me!”  
  
Aaron frowns. “We didn’t lie about anything. You, on the other hand, accused us of molesting our son.”  
  
“Perfect.” This is the first time Cuddy’s heard about this.  
  
”Can we get off my screw-ups and focus on theirs? Theirs is bigger. You’re not Dan’s parents.”  
  
”We’re his parents.” Erica snaps.  
  
”He was adopted. He doesn’t need to know.”  
  
”I do.”  
  
”Adoption makes him just as much his”  
  
House cuts off Aaron. “Listen, when we were taking his medical history, were you confused? Did you think we were looking for a genetic clue to his condition, or did you think we were trying to ascertain who loves him the most in the whole wide world?”  
  
“How did you find out about this?” Cuddy asks.  
  
”I sampled their DNA.”  
  
”We didn’t give you any DNA.”  
  
”Your coffee cups from the cafeteria.”  
  
“You can’t do that!” Cuddy stands up.  
  
”Again, why are we getting hung up on what I did? [Turns to Dan’s parents] Your medical history is useless.”  
  
”No, we gave you a detailed history of his biological mother.”  


Erica lists it off. “Her history; non-smoker, good health, low cholesterol, no blood pressure problems.”  
  
”Dan was adopted two weeks after he was born. You have his history. There’s nothing you need to know that we didn’t tell you.”  
  
“Sounds reasonable. Well, if you want to transfer your boy that is your choice, but I still think it’s wrong”  
  
House cuts her off. “Was she vaccinated?” After a pause, he clarifies. “The biological mother, when she was a baby, did she get her vaccinations?”  


“Dan was vaccinated at 6 months.”  
  
”Mm-hmm, and do you know why kids get vaccinated at 6 months? Because before that, they are protected by their biological mother’s immune system. So, was she vaccinated?”  
  
Aaron and Erica exchange glances and then lower their gazes to the floor. Cuddy frowns at the new information, but House is done there. He pages his team to make sure they’re all in the office as he takes an elevator to meet them. Soon as his foot is in the door, he explains what’s happening.  
  
”An infant picks up a regular old measles virus. He gets a rash, he’s extremely uncomfortable, has a wicked fever, but he lives. Here’s the kicker, once every million or so times, the virus mutates. Instead of Dan having a fever and a rash the virus travels to his brain and hides like a time bomb. In this case for thirteen years.”  
  
”Sub-acute Sclerosing Pan-encephalitis.” Foreman is shocked.  
  
”I know. There have only been 20 cases in the United States in the past 30 years.”  
  
”I suppose you could make an argument that the kid’s still in stage one. Once SSPE moves to stage two”  
  
”Boom, stage two is universally fatal.”  
  
Cameron whines, “I assume it’s impossible to tell when he might move into stage two.”  


“He’s already started showing symptoms. It could be a month, it could be tonight.”  
  
”Can we treat it?”  


“Ask the wannabe neurologist.”  
  
Foreman nods. “Intraventricular interferon.”  
  
”We’re not gonna shove a spike into his brain and drip interferon without confirming this diagnosis.”  
  
House shrugs. “Tap him.”  
  
”We won’t get a reliable result for measles antibodies in his CSF, not after everything we’ve given him.”  
  
”So the wrong treatment kills any hope of the right diagnosis. Why do people lie to me?” House sighs. “It could also kill him. Your ball, Foreman, tell me I don’t have to biopsy his brain.”  
  
Foreman sighs this time. “Well, there is one other way.”

 

They decide to perform the biopsy in an alternative way. A few hours later, they’re in a dark room. Dan is strapped in so he can’t move while a _huge_ needle is pointed directly at his right eye. Dan glances from the corner of his eyes to Foreman.  
  
”You sure this isn’t gonna hurt?”  
  
”Yeah, it’s just scary as hell. See, we go through the pupil. You won’t feel it; the eye’s been paralyzed. The needle travels to the back of the eye, which is where we perform the biopsy on your retina.”  
  
The machine starts and the needle enters Dan’s eye. The measles virus from earlier is sitting there and then getting sucked up. Once the small, delicate procedure is completed, Dan is sent to the operating room. Foreman walks outside to talk with Dan’s parents.  
  
”So we’ve confirmed that the problem is this mutated virus. The treatment for SSPE is intra-ventricular interferon. We implant an Ommaya reservoir under the scalp, which is connected to a ventricular catheter that delivers the antiviral directly to the left hemisphere”  
  
Aaron interrupts him. “Look, you want us to consent to this? I don’t even understand what you’re talking about.”  
  
”Well, the antiviral… Look, I’m sorry, I can explain this as best I can, but the notion that you’re gonna fully understand your son’s treatment and make an informed decision is, it’s kinda insane. Now, here’s what you need to know, it’s dangerous, it could kill him, you should do it.”  
  
In the operating room, Dan is awake on the table. There’s a doctor with a drill standing behind him. Cameron and Foreman are there, and the drill makes a hole in Dan’s skull.  
  
As this is occurring, House is attempting to pull wages with Cuddy in her office.  
  
“You can’t order a $3,200 DNA test to win a bet.”  
  
House frowns at this. “It’s not an actual cost. I don’t know if you know this, but the hospital actually owns the sequencing machine.”  
  
“I’m serious.”

 

“Well, tell the parents to submit the bill to insurance.”  
  
“Insurance is not going to pay for a bet.”  
  
”It should. If we don’t make that bet, the kid dies. If not for the paternity bet, I never would have taken their DNA, without their DNA we never would have discovered that Dan was adopted, which was the key to this case. You just don’t want to pay your end. Big mistake. My guy knows a guy.”  
  
“Fine. I will let you out of clinic duty for one week after you pay the $3,200 for the PCR test.”  
  
House sighs and picks up his cane. He limps over to her desk and slams his cane down.  
  
“Whoo.”  
  
House grins, pulling money from his wallet. “Well now, there’s the $100 you owe me, there’s the $100 I won from Cameron, $200 I took off of Foreman, and $600 I got from Wilson. He’s very bitter.”  
  
Everyone on the team stays over another night. They switch from taking naps to watching over Dan. Currently, Foreman and Cameron are in Dan’s room. It’s a little past nine in the morning. House has just got in; hanging out with Wilson in the latter’s office. Chase has woken from his nap and is currently in House’s office with his tutor. Dan wakes up.  
  
”Hey, good morning.” Cameron smiles.

 

“Morning? What day is it?”  
  
Foreman answers, “Thursday. Good news on your EEG, treatment is working.”  
  
”And your immune system is responding.”  
  
”I know it’s early, but let me take a look. Let’s see what that brain of yours can do. Name as many animals as you can that start with the letter “O”.”  
  
”Ostrich, ox,” Dan grins. “Old elephant.”  
  
”Well, that’s two better than last time. How you doing with the whole adoption thing?”  


“I knew since fifth grade.  
  
Foreman’s eyes widen. “How’s that?”  
  
”Cleft chin. I have one, my dad doesn’t. I looked it up on the Internet; it’s one of those trait things.”  
  
”That’s right, it’s autosomal dominant. Since neither of your parents have cleft chins, it’s highly unlikely that you’re biologically related.”  
  
Cameron is still concerned. “You sure you’re ok?”  
  
”I’ve got no problems with being adopted. I love my parents.”  
  
On that note, Dan’s parents enter.  
  
”How’s he doing?” Aaron asks.  
  
”He’s doing pretty well.” Cameron smiles. “He’s a smart kid. I think he’s gonna be fine.”  
  
”Thanks.”

 

In Wilson’s office, House gets a page. As he tucks it back in his pocket, Wilson questions the movement knowingly.

 

“Patient released?”

 

“Yep. Healthy with two non-parents.”

 

“They’re still his parents.” Wilson rolls his eyes. “Got anything planned for tonight?”

 

“What’s tonight?”

 

“It’s Thursday,” Wilson remarks and then smiles. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

 

House shrugs. “Depends. Get me anything?”

 

“Depends.” Wilson mimics. “What are we doing?”

 

“Chinese and monster trucks?”

 

“Sounds like a plan.”  


James follows Greg to the latter’s house in his Volvo. The last thing James wants to do is have another Thanksgiving dinner with his family, and Greg knows all too well what they’re like. In no time, James and Greg are hanging out on the couch. They play a few fighting games on the Xbox and eat delivered Chinese, and watch monster trucks destroy other cars. Two weekends later, it’s the first Saturday of December. Greg is standing on the sidelines, watching a lacrosse game with mild amusement.  
  
”Wheels, one-eight!” Greg calls out, still keeping to himself. “Wheels!”  
  
Player eighteen makes a goal. Greg’s hand moves with the player’s movement, and Greg gives a small smile. The team all gathers around and cheers together. Greg then picks up his cane and holds it like a lacrosse stick. He sticks around for hours. Eventually, a car pulls up behind him and honks the horn. Greg takes this as his cue and limps out onto the field, heading for James’s old Volvo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very tired now. Writing this like teenagers takes a lot out of me.


	3. Occam's Razor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cameron's crushing; House is bored; Cough medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in one day after a long line of months of nothingness!!!
> 
> Hi, Everybody! Welcome back. This is 1.03 – Occam’s Razor. I am back in school now, so there may be more writing while I should be completing homework and more uploads in-between classes. Things will remain pretty much canon until about halfway through the second season… but I have no idea how long it’ll take me to get up there. Over 100 views – I feel so loved! Diagnosis: Limerence (possibly). I plan on uploading every Wednesday (but don't count on it much) before my psychology class starts… so we’ll see how it goes.
> 
> Notice from before stands to claim.

In a regular patient’s room, there lies a fifteen-year-old boy hooked up to a lot of medical wires and tubes. A girl roughly the same age is sitting in a chair next to him. He looks very uncomfortable. Downstairs, Wilson is trying to urge House to take over the case.

  
”Why do you want me to treat this guy?”  
  
Wilson goes the medicinal route. “Blood pressure’s not responding to IV fluids.”  
  
”No, no I didn’t ask how you plan to con me into treating him, I asked you why _you_ want me to treat him.”  
  
”He’s sick, I care. I’m pathetic.”  
  
”There are about a billion sick people on the planet, why this one?” They climb into the elevator, still talking about the kid apparently named Brandon.  
  
”Because this one’s is in our emergency room.”  
  
”Ah, so it’s a proximity issue. If somebody was sick in the third-floor stairwell that’s who we would be talking about.”  
  
”Yes, I checked the stairwell, it’s clear.”  


“Okay then, emergency room guy it is.”  
  
Wilson raises an eyebrow. “Wait, how was that so easy?”  
  
”You know why.”  
  
Wilson smiles. “Blood pressure’s not responding to IV fluids?”  
  
”Yeah, that’s just weird.”  
  
House exits the elevator, heading to his office where the ducklings await.  
  
”CBC was unremarkable, abdominal CT scan didn’t show anything. So, people, differential diagnosis. What’s wrong with her?”  
  
”Him.” Cameron corrects, looking over the file.  
  
”Him, her, does it matter? Does anyone think it is a testicular problem? No, so Chase…”  
  
”Absidia infection?”  
  
”No, you wouldn’t get the rash or cough. What about arthritis? Accompanying vasculitis causes nerve damage –“  


“No, it wouldn’t cause the blood pressure problems. Allergy?” Cameron questions.  
  
”Big Boss has got abdominal pain. Maybe carcinoid?”  
  
”Nah, but then you wouldn’t get the –“

 

He’s instantly cut off as House slams a giant book in front of him.  
  
”Foreman, if you’re going to list all the things it’s not, it might be quicker to do it alphabetically. Let’s see. Absidia? Excellent. Doesn’t account for any of the symptoms.”  
  
”No condition accounts for all these symptoms.” Cameron points out.  
  
”Well, good! Because I thought maybe he was sick, but apparently he’s not. Who wants to do up the discharge papers? Okay, unless we control the blood pressure, he’s going to start circling the drain before we can figure out what’s wrong with him. Treat him for sepsis, broad-spectrum antibiotics and I want a cort-stim test and an echocardiogram.”

 

As the ducklings leave, House calls out to Chase.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Big Boss? You know this kid?”

 

Chase winces. “Um, yeah… We go to school together.”

 

“Of course you do.” House rolls his eyes. “Just go to the labs and do homework or something.”

  
Chase does as said. Foreman and Cameron move on to complete the echocardiogram. Brandon is coughing.  
  
”You all right?”  
  
”Yeah.” He smiles softly at her.  
  
”Cort-stim tests will tell us if your pituitary and adrenal glands are working properly.”  
  
The girl, Mindy, is asking questions for him. “His glands? What does that mean?”  
  
”We have a few theories we’re working on.”  
  
Mindy narrows her eyes at Cameron. “You mean you don’t know.”  
  
”Mindy…” Brandon complains.  
  
”I’m just saying if they knew they wouldn’t be testing you, they’d be treating you.”  
  
”Yeah, well, that’s the way it works. First you find out what it is, then we get you better.”

 

While Cameron and Foreman deal with Brandon and Misty, House reluctantly enters the clinic. Lisa meets him at the front desk, hands on her hips.  
  
”You’re half an hour late.”  
  
He only shrugs in response. “Busy caseload.”  
  
”One case is not a “load”.”  
  
”So, how are we doing on cotton swabs today? If there’s an acute shortage I could run home –“  
  
Cuddy looks at his leg. “No, you couldn’t.”  
  
”Nice.” He walks over to the waiting room full of patients. “Hello, sick people and their loved ones!” He smirks as Cuddy looks at him incredulously. “In the interest of saving time and avoiding a lot of boring chit-chat later, I’m Dr. Gregory House. You can call me Greg. I’m one of three doctors staffing this clinic this morning.”  
  
”Short, sweet. Grab a file.”  
  
”This ray of sunshine is Dr. Lisa Cuddy.” He continues loudly. “Dr. Cuddy runs this whole hospital so, unfortunately, she’s much too busy to deal with you. I am a  _bored_  certified diagnostician with a double specialty of infectious disease and nephrology. I’m also the only doctor currently employed at this clinic who is here against his will.”

 

He pauses to look over at Cuddy, who is staring back in disbelief. “That is true, isn’t it?”

 

With no response on her part, House continues addressing the clinic crowd. “But not to worry, because for most of you this job could be done by a monkey with a bottle of Motrin. Speaking of which, if you’re particularly annoying, you may see me reach for this.” He pulls out his bottle of painkillers.

 

“This is Vicodin. It’s mine. You can’t have any. And no, I do not have a pain management problem, I have a pain problem. But who knows? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m too stoned to tell. So, who wants me?” None of the clinic patients seem too eager.

 

“And who would rather wait for one of the other two doctors?” Everyone raises their hands. “Okay, well, I’ll be in Exam Room One if you change your mind.”  


House smirks one last time at Cuddy and limps off to the aforementioned exam room. Cuddy rolls her eyes and takes the first clipboard.

  
”Jodi Matthews?” The woman stands. “Please accompany Dr. House to Exam Room One.”

 

Very reluctantly, she does so. Upstairs, Mindy runs up to Cameron in the hallway.  
  
”I’m not sure scaring your boyfriend is the best medicine for him right now.”  
  
”I know, I get… stupid when I’m scared.”  
  
”Don’t go rock climbing.” Cameron tries for a joke.  
  
”Look, I was wondering…. Before this happened, we were having sex.”  
  
”What, you, you’re wondering if whatever he has you might have gotten it? It’s unlikely, we ran a complete STD panel, so –“  
  
”No, I was wondering if maybe I did this to him. I was kind of rough.”  
  
In the exam room, Jodi is explaining to House about her color-changing mucus.  
  
”It was yellow.”  
  
”It was?” He questions the woman who is approximately his mom’s age.  
  
”It’s not anymore.”  
  
”Hmmm, that’s a shame.”  
  
”I thought that might be a problem, so I brought you this.” She reaches into her purse and hands him a paint color sample card.  
  
”Your mucus was pale goldenrod.”  
  
”Last week, yes. Should I be worried?”  
  
”Oh, yes. Very.” House responds, thinking about her mental state.  
  
”Really? I thought I was okay now.”  
  
”And yet, here you are. What happened? Paramedics took a week to respond to your 911 call?”  
  
Jodi frowns. “You’re not a very nice doctor, are you?”  


“And you are very bad at whatever it is you do.”  
  
”You don’t even know me!”  
  
”I know you’re going to get fired. That’s why you got the new glasses; that’s why your teeth are sparkly white. You’re getting the most of your health insurance while you still can.”  
  
”I might be quitting.”  
  
”If you were quitting you would have known that last week when your snot was still pale goldenrod; you’re getting fired.”  
  
Jodi looks down at her feet. “I just don’t like being told what to do.”  
  
_I know what that’s like._ ‘I’ll get you in for a full body scan later this week.”  
  
Jodi smiles. “Thanks.”  
  
Meanwhile, Chase, Cameron and Foreman are in the lab.  
  
”It’s got to be viral. We should start running gels and titers.” Foreman holds up his test results.  
  
Cameron folds her arms. “We should test the girlfriend’s theory. She thinks she rode him to death”.  
  
Foreman laughs. “What did you tell her?”  
  
”Well, I told her fifteen-year old boys don’t die of sex.”  
  
”What’d you ask her?” Chase questions.  


“What do you mean?”  
  
”I mean, I hope you got some specifics on exactly what was going on. It’s a girl who thinks it could kill you… it’s worth knowing about.”  
  
”Have you ever taken a life?”

 

Chase gives Cameron a dirty look. Foreman gets the full lab results from the printer.  
  
”We should stop the antibiotics.”  
  
”It’s too soon to say they’re not having an effect.”  
  
”They’re having an effect. His BP’s falling fast.” As he speaks, Brandon is harshly coughing while the IV meds hit his bloodstream. “There’s fluid filling his lungs. His creatinine’s rising. His kidneys are shutting down. Our treatment isn’t making him better; it’s killing him.”  
  
Back in House’s office, Cameron is adding “kidney failure” to the list of symptoms on the white board. House sighs.  
  
”So, we had six symptoms that didn’t add up to anything, now we have seven. Who’s excited?”  
  
Foreman stands. “I don’t think it complicates things. The kidney failure was caused by the antibiotics.”  
  
”Maybe.”  
  
He continues. “Typically, low blood pressure and abdominal pain means an infection. An abdominal infection causes sepsis, low blood pressure…”  
  
Chase stands now. “Except we checked for abdominal infections.”  
  
”I know, but what if it’s the other way around. What if the low blood pressure is causing the abdominal pain?”  
  
”Viral heart infection. The intestines aren’t getting enough blood, and the result is belly pain.”  
  
”I know it’s not the standard presentation.”  
  
”It’s a ten million to one shot.”  
  
”I thought that’s what we dealt with, here. It explains the cardiomyopathy, pain, the low BP, the fever.”  
  
House finally voices his thoughts. “You read the book. Impressive. It’s a ludicrously long shot that explains every one of those symptoms, except for the cough and the rash. Should we just erase those?”  
  
Foreman shrugs. “Well, anything can cause a rash.”  
  
”Okay.” House grabs an orange-colored marker. “Cardiac infection.” He circles all of the applicable symptoms, puts down the marker, and then picks up a different (green) marker. “Cameron, you thought… allergy?” He circles, grabs a new (black) marker, and repeats. “Chase, what was it you thought, carcinoid? And then there’s hypothyroidism, could be parasites. Finally, sinus infection.”  
  
Foreman groans. “If you’re going to list all of the things it can’t be, you’re gonna need more colors.”  
  
House dismisses this. “Cameron was right. No condition explains all these symptoms. But orange and green covers everything.”  
  
Chase looks up incredulously. “Orange and green? Two conditions, contracted simultaneously?”  
  
Foreman shrugs now. “Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is always the best.”  
  
”And you think one is simpler than two.”  
  
Cameron answers smugly. “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”  
  
Challenging her, House starts up. “Baby shows up. Chase tells you that two people exchanged fluids to create this being. I tell you that one stork dropped the little tyke off in a diaper. You going to go with the two or the one?”  
  
Foreman scoffs. “I think your argument is specious.”  
  
”I think your tie is ugly. Why is one simpler than two? It’s lower, lonelier… is it simpler? Each one of these conditions is about a thousand to one shot. That means that any two of them happening at the same time is a million to one shot. Chase says that cardiac infection is a ten million to one shot, which makes my idea ten times better than yours. Get a calculator, run the numbers.”  
  
”We’ll run the tests.”  
  
”Tests take time. Treatment’s quicker. Start the kid on Unasyn for the sinus infection and… what was orange?”  


“Hypothyroidism.”  
  
In Brandon’s room, Cameron is setting him up for treatment.  
  
”My uncle has hypothyroidism.” Brandon points out.  
  
”Not like this. Intravenous levothyroxine is an artificial thyroid medication that should take care of it. Also, the nurses are going to start you on Unasyn, it’s a more targeted antibiotic.”  
  
”For the sinus infection?” Mindy asks.  
  
”Yes.”  
  
”And the other stuff is for… something else entirely?”  
  
”Bad luck, huh? Don’t worry, he should be back to ditching work in no time.” The door then opens, and Brandon’s parents (Mr. and Mrs. Merrell) come in.  
  
”Brandon?” His mom calls.  
  
”Hey.” He answers, coughing with his words.  
  
Mr. Merrell looks over to Cameron. Skeptically, he takes in her appearance and talks. “We’re his parents. How’s he doing?”  
  
”Um, Brandon is –“  
  
The boy cuts her off. “Um, Mom, Dad, this is Mindy. I was going to bring her home for Christmas, so…. We’re engaged.”

 

Cameron raises her eyebrows. Brandon’s parents smile. The family starts actively talking and Cameron leaves the room. Chase and Foreman catch up to her in the hall.  
  
Chase speaks first. “Tell the family House’s theory?”  
  
Foreman adds on. “Two odd conditions striking completely coincidentally at the exact same time?”  
  
”I didn’t phrase it quite that way.”  
  
Chase shakes his head. “They agree to treatment?”  
  
”Of course they did, we’re doctors.” Foreman throws his arms down. “They believe whatever we tell them.” He pauses after saying this. “So, is that our job? House’s puppets? He comes up with an insane idea, we get to pretend it’s not?”  
  
Cameron sticks up for him. “His insane ideas are usually right. We’ve been here long enough to”  
  
Foreman interrupts. “-- been here long enough to have Stockholm Syndrome.” Chase and Cameron laugh at that while agreeing.  
  
Chase stops. “What? Because we don’t hate him? He thinks outside the box, is that so evil?”  
  
Foreman shakes his head again. “He has no idea where the box is! If you guys think he’s right, go home. Relax. Just wait for the kid to get all better. I’m going to the lab to test for viral infections.”

 

He walks off; Chase and Cameron follow. The ducklings head for the lab to work on gels.  
  
Foreman holds up a screen. “Negative for Coxsackie-B virus.”  
  
Chase facepalms. “Seven down, about 5000 to go. You really think we’re going to come up with your mystery virus by running gels until we guess it right?”  
  
”No, I think we’re going to get it by standing around watching other people work.”  
  
”I’m waiting for the Epstein Barr virus.” He looks at Cameron, who’s in another side of the lab, separated by a glass wall. “She’s weird, isn’t she?”  
  
”Bad idea.”  
  
”What?”  
  
”Bad idea. You work with her.”  
  
”What did I say?” Chase sounds offended. “Is “weird” some new ghetto euphemism for sexy, like “bad” is good and “phat” is good? Then what the hell does “good” mean?”  
  
“Ghetto euphemism”? Chase laughs when Foreman raises his eyebrows. “You don’t think she’s hot?”  
  
”No.”  
  
”Wow, then you’re brilliant. And I am using “brilliant” as a euphemism.”  


“Obviously, the girl is hot. You, you’re not talking about her aesthetics, you’re talking about if I want to jump her. I don’t.”  
  
”Brilliant.” He repeats. After a long pause, a test beeps. “Your Epstein Barr is ready.”  


Meanwhile, in the clinic, House is very involved in his Gameboy. His clinic patient is staring over at him, slightly impatiently.  
  
”What are you doing?”  
  
”Level four.” House answers without looking up.  
  
”No, I mean –“  
  
”I know what you meant. We’re waiting.”  
  
”My throat hurts.”  
  
”So you said.”  
  
”How long are we waiting?”  
  
”Two minutes less then when you asked me two minutes ago.” As he states this, Cuddy walks in.  
  
”Hi.” The patient waves.  
  
”Hi. I’m Dr. Cuddy. Nice to meet you.”  


“Dr. Cuddy, thanks for the consult.” House smirks and closes the Gameboy. “His throat seems to have some condition.”  
  
”Say “Ah” for me.”  
  
”Ahhhhh.”  
  
Cuddy stares at House. “He has a sore throat.”  


“Of course!” House exclaims in an exaggerated tone. “Yes, why didn’t I… I mean, because he said that… it hurt, and I, I should have deduced that meant it was sore…”  
  
Cuddy is impatient. “I was in a board meeting.”  
  
”Patients come first, right?”  
  
”Wouldn’t want to prescribe a lozenge if there was any doubt about its efficacy, huh?”  
  
”You once asked why I think I’m always right, and I realized that you’re right… at least, I think you’re right. I don’t really know now, do I?”

 

Cuddy smiles.  
  
”Hey!” The patient calls out for attention. “I’m here.”  
  
”Go home. Drink some hot tea.” Cuddy then leaves immediately.  
  
”Excellent counsel.”  
  
The patient leaves and House unwillingly welcomes another. Meanwhile, at the lab, Cameron and Foreman are now working together. Chase is in back.  
  
”Negative on parvovirus B19.” Cameron holds up another screen.  
  
”I’m impressed.”  
  
”Thank you, I was born to run gels.” She deadpans.  
  
”I meant about Chase.”  
  
”What about Chase?”  
  
”Well, the man has no physical interest in you. He has a completely professional relationship with you, he respects you as a colleague and a doctor, and yet he can’t look at you without thinking sex. You now have total control over your relationship with him.”  
  
”So, you can’t express an interest in sex without it being some professional powerplay?”  
  
”No.” House’s voice causes her to jump as he’d walked in to the lab, unbeknownst to the other doctors. “If you look the way you do, and you say what you said, you have to be aware of the effect that it’ll have on men. And some women.”  
  
Cameron ignores the last statement. “Men should grow up.”  
  
”Yeah. And dogs should stop licking themselves, it’s not gonna happen.”

 

Cameron giggles at the statement and Chase comes in.  
  
”What’s going on?”

 

Cameron abruptly stops laughing upon realization. She turns to House.  
  
”Yeah, what are you doing here?”  
  
”Looking for you guys.”  
  
”Why didn’t you page us?” Foreman shrugs.  
  
”‘Cause I knew you’d be here.”  
  
Chase narrows his eyes, though not toward House. “Who told him?”  
  
”No one.” House answers for the crowd. “I assume you’re trying to prove my crazy two-illness theory wrong, so, obviously, you’re going to be in the lab. You spin the urine?” He questions as he pops a Vicodin.  
  
Foreman sighs. “Not yet.”  
  
”Talk to me when you have.”

 

A few hours later, House is playing with his oversized tennis ball behind his desk. Wilson is lounging in the chair in front of it. Due to comments from earlier, their lighthearted discussion has turned toward the mention of sex. More importantly, how long it’s been since either of them have had sex. It’s apparently been over a year for House, and nine months for Wilson.

 

“You and Julie?” House questions lightly.

 

Wilson shakes his head, obviously not wanting to go down that road. Wilson and Julie have been engaged for over two years now. Julie keeps pushing the wedding date back. House honestly doesn’t see why Wilson doesn’t just dump her. Luckily for Wilson, Foreman chooses this moment to walk in unannounced.

 

"What did you find out?" House questions easily.

 

"The kidney failure. It's acute interstitial nephritis." Foreman shrugs, taking in House's easygoing manner on it.

 

"I wonder if that's significant." House responds sarcastically, smirking toward Wilson.

 

"It means the antibiotics didn't cause the kidney failure." Foreman raises an eyebrow. "How did you know?"

 

House sounds affronted. "Well, if you guys hadn't been so busy trying to prove me wrong, you might have checked in on the poor kid."

 

Both eyebrows shoot up this time. "You visited a patient?"

 

He smiles arrogantly. "I was sitting by his bed all morning, just so he'd know someone was there for him."

 

Wilson sighs, butting into the conversation. "I looked in on him. He's much better."

 

House nods and the conceited smile remains on his face as he replies to his underling.

"Ergo, the treatment's working. Ergo, me right, you wrong."

 

"Hey, I'm glad for the kid." Foreman scoffs and leaves the office.

 

As the door closes, Wilson smiles at House. "That smugness of yours really is an attractive quality."

 

House genuinely smiles back, though his voice still holds the sarcasm. "Thank you. It was either that or get my hair highlighted. Smugness is easier to maintain."

 

Wilson rolls his eyes but can’t hold back a bit of a laugh. “I get that you’re not a big believer in the ‘catching flies with honey’ approach, but do you honestly think you’ll collect a jarful by cleverly taunting them?”  


House shakes his head. “Flies, no. Doctors, sure. If I’d said to Foreman, “Nice try, it was a great guess, but not this time,” what do you think he’d be doing right now?”

 

“I think he’d be going home not feeling like a piece of crap.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

Wilson is shocked. “You _want_ him to feel like a piece of crap?”

 

  
”No, I don’t want him going home.”

 

Wilson gives up and heads back to his office, while House moves on to the clinic to knock out a few more hours. Foreman, on the other hand, leaves toward Brandon’s room. When he enters, Brandon addresses him before turning into a hacking fit.

 

Foreman frowns. “You still have the cough.”

 

“I’m feeling a lot better, though.”

 

“His fever’s gone, and his rash is going away.” Mrs. Merrell smiles.

 

“I see.”

 

“Is everything okay?” She sounds worried.

 

“Just ordering some tests. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

 

As Foreman orders the tests, House is in a clinic exam room. He’s helped two patients, and now he’s simply playing again on his Gameboy.

  
A woman slightly older than House is sat on the cot, wondering how long she’s got to stay.

 

“How much longer?”

 

“9:30, I figure she was on the 8th hole when I paged her…” House grimaces as his guy dies, and then hands her the Gameboy. “Probably got another half hour.”

 

She goes with it and begins playing the video game. She doesn’t look up when Foreman enters.

 

“I ran a TSH, T3 and T4. Patient’s negative for hypothyroidism.”  
  
She stops playing and looks up to him. He shakes his head, though.  


“Not talking about you.”

 

She takes it and returns to the game. House and Foreman proceed to go over the case while his clinic patient is distracted.  


“Well the fact that he’s getting better would indicate the unreliability of the tests.”

 

“If I’m right and it’s a viral infection, one of two things always happens: patient dies or the patient’s immune system fights off the invader.” Foreman skeptically nods toward the patient in the room. “What’s with her?”

 

“Her leg hurts after running six miles. Who knows, it could be anything!”

 

Foreman simply shakes his head but says nothing. “He’s getting better. That doesn’t prove you’re right, it just proves he’s getting better.”

 

House smiles, but Foreman presses on. “It, it’s not two illnesses! It can’t be two illnesses!”  
  
”I am so glad you work here.”

 

“If I’m right, the antibiotics you prescribed could block his kidneys and liver, impeding his ability to fight off the virus. Could kill him.”

 

“Well, that certainly would be a concern. Fifty bucks?” The woman looks up, overhearing about the betting. House shakes his head. “Don’t look away, the space monkeys will be all over you.”  
  
Foreman raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet on the patient’s _health_?”  
  
”You think that’s bad luck? Do you think that God will smite him because of our insensitivity? Well, if God does, you make a quick fifty.” House’s clinic patient kills the little guy on the Gameboy. Upon recognizing the noise, House snatches the gaming system for his turn.

 

“Go check his white blood count. If he’s fighting off a virus like you think it’ll be way up.”

 

He starts to play on the Gameboy again as Foreman leaves. Very shortly after, Wilson enters. House looks up momentarily.  
  
”Hey, Cuddy said you needed a consult, what’s up? I’m busy.”

 

“Of course she did.” House smirks. “Her leg hurts after running six miles. Who knows, it could be anything!”

 

“Are you the doctor to help?” She questions.

 

Wilson’s eye dart, from the woman asking an innocently ignorant question, to House smiling smugly to his best friend. The guy on the video game dies and House wordlessly hands the system over to the woman for her turn. While Wilson deals with them, Chase and Cameron are in the conference area of Houses office. Cameron is watching Chase make some coffee, and Chase stares back – spilling the coffee he’d been pouring. When he screams out, Cameron makes her move and walks into his personal space.  
  
”I was just being glib.”  
  
”You haven’t said anything.”  
  
”No, before when we were talking about Brandon’s girlfriend thinking sex could kill you. It was just a joke.”  
  
”Oh, I don’t even remember what was said.”  
  
”I’m uncomfortable about sex.” She states and Chase turns quickly.  
  
”Well, we don’t have to talk about this…”  
  
”Sex… could kill you. Do you know what the human body goes through when you have sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets…” As she talks, Chase is starting to look uncomfortable. “… respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere and secretions spit out of every gland…” Chase is now looking for an escape route. “… and the muscles tense and spasm like you’re lifting three times your body weight. It’s violent, it’s ugly, and it’s messy, and if God hadn’t made it unbelievably fun… the human race would have died out eons ago.” She pauses for a short moment before continuing. “Men are lucky they can only have one orgasm. You know that women can have an hour-long orgasm?” Chase is very wide-eyed; Foreman walks in and Cameron’s voice takes on her average cheery tone. “Hey, Foreman. What’s up?”  
  
”Hey, Foreman!” Chase squeaks.  
  
”Hey.” He responds, staring at the two with mild curiosity. House walks in.  
  
”White cell count isn’t up, is it?”  
  
”No.” Foreman frowns. “We were both wrong. White cell count is down, way down, and dropping. His immune system is shot. We need to get him into a clean room.”  
  
Half an hour later, Chase had been assigned to prep Brandon for the clean room. He does so extremely hesitantly.  
  
”Can you walk, Brandon?”  
  
”Yeah, a little.”  
  
”All right, okay. ‘Cause we’ll need to leave the chair outside.”

 

He turns to the nurse helping him. “Thank you. Where’s April? April!” The woman in question comes in. “Can you take the chair, please?”

 

She does so and Chase turns to face Brandon. “I’ll need to take your mask and your robe, too. You might want to block your ears for this, it’s quite loud.”

 

They’re blasted with air as they enter the clean room. Cameron, Foreman, the Merrells and Mindy are watching Chase and Brandon from outside the clean room.  
  
”Something’s made his immune system compromised.” Foreman explains.  
  
”His white blood cell count is down, which means his body can’t fight off infections.”  
  
”If he gets sick, he’ll die.”  
  
”Sick.” Mrs. Merrell repeats. “How sick?”  
  
”If he gets a cold, he’ll die.”  
  
A half hour later, Brandon is coughing. Foreman is prepping him for a marrow sample.  
  
”Okay. I’m going to push the needle into your hipbone, and take some of the marrow.” He inserts a needle.  
  
”That’s not so bad.”  
  
”Hah, that was just the anesthetic. The core biopsy needle, it’s a little bit bigger. Okay man, take a deep breath, this is, this is gonna hurt. A lot.” Brandon seizes the bed and grimaces in pain as Foreman explains what’s happening. “Marrow makes the blood cells. You take a peek of it under a microscope, and maybe we find a viral infection. Maybe we find some fibrosis. Something to explain why your blood count is so low.” He fills the syringe with marrow. “There we go. One step closer to an answer.”  
  
Brandon looks up to him, energy depleting. “What if you don’t find one? I can’t stay here forever.”  


Over in Cuddy’s office, she and House are arguing.  
  
”The patient could have died.”  
  
”The one with the pulled muscle.”  
  
”Well, those symptoms are consistent with a dozen other conditions. I, you know, I, I’m entitled to a consult!”  
  
”You are not getting out of clinic duty.”  
  
”Oh, come on. You’ve got a hundred other idiot doctors in this building who go warm and fuzzy every time they pull a toy car out of a nose, you don’t need me here.”  
  
”No, I don’t, but working with people actually makes you a better doctor.”  
  
”When did I sign up for that course?”  
  
”When did I give you the impression that I care?”  
  
”Working in this clinic obviously instills a deep sense of compassion.” He starts to walk out. “I’ve got your home number, right? In case anything comes up at 3 o’clock in the morning.”  
  
”It’s not going to work. You know why? Because this is fun. You think of something to make me miserable, I think of something to make you miserable: it’s a game! And I’m going to win, because I got a head start. You are already miserable.”

 

Cuddy leaves her office, with House standing still in disbelief, and she runs into Wilson.  
  
”Uh…”  
  
”Is this important?” She snaps.  
  
”Uh, no.”  
  
”No.” She storms off, just as House exits her office.  
  
”What’s with you and her?”  
  
”Don’t.” He bares down on his cane.  
  
Most people would change the subject at House’s tone, but Wilson wants to know the truth. He catches up to House as he heads toward the clinic. “Do you have a thing for her? The only people who can get to you –“  
  
”No!” He shouts. “There is not a thin line between love and hate. There is, in fact, a Great Wall of China with armed sentries posted every twenty feet between love and hate.” Rather than make it to the clinic, they’ve come to the pharmacist. “36 Vicodin.”  


“Who’s the patient?”  
  
”I am.”  
  
”You can’t…”  
  
House cuts him off. “Dr. Wilson is the prescribing physician.”  
  
”Yeah.” Wilson waves to the pharmacist and then turns back to House. “You will lie, cheat and steal to get what you want, but you’re incapable of kissing a little ass?”  
  
”Well, we all have our limitations.” He grabs a bottle from the counter and turns to leave.  
  
”House! Wrong bottle.” He gives House the right bottle. “Do me a favor. Take one of these, wait five minutes for it to kick in, and find Cuddy, and kiss her ass.”  
  
”What was the kid’s first symptom?” After a small pause, he elaborates. “You did the history; of his 800 symptoms, which one hit him first?”  
  
”Ah, the cough.”  
  
Another half hour later, House is thinking in his office, staring at the white board. He starts looking through medical texts and searching online; while Chase watches him through the glass wall. Brandon is still coughing in his room. The ducklings are sat at the desk when House finally walks in. He walks up behind them and speaks one word.

 

“Gout.”

 

With that, he retreats to his office; only for the others to curiously follow. Chase speaks first.

 

“Um, are we talking about Brandon?”

 

“Gout?” Foreman repeats. “Uric acid crystals in the joints? The symptoms are pain, swelling, redness, stiffness… not one of which do I see on that board.”

 

House sighs. “Because he doesn’t have gout. Every day, cells die. We survive because the remaining cells divide and replace the losses. The colchicine, a gout medicine, blocks mitosis and stops cell division, which will result in abdominal pain, rash, nausea, fever, kidney failure, low blood pressure, and will also mess with the bone marrow.” He crosses these all off the board.  


Chase frowns. “But he doesn’t have gout. Why would he have gout medication?”

 

“Because you guys were right. He didn’t have two conditions at the exact same time. First, he got a cough. Now, because he’s an idiot, he went to a doctor. In order to feel justified charging two hundred dollars, the doctor felt he should actually do something. Oops. He wrote a prescription. Seven thousand people die each year from pharmacy screw-ups. Not nearly as many as die from doctor screw-ups, but still, not something they use in their promotional material. The pharmacist gave him gout medicine instead of cough medicine. And the only thing it wouldn’t do: it would do absolutely nothing to relieve his cough. Occam’s Razor. The simplest explanation is almost always somebody screwed up.”  
  
Cameron doesn’t see it. “But once he checked into this hospital he was completely in our control. Our food, our pills, our… everything. So even if you’re right, no gout medication.< He’d either continue to deteriorate or he would have gotten better. But he got better, and then he got worse. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t make sense.”

 

House runs his hand over his face. “Okay. Two people screwed up. Not as simple as one, but…”

 

Mindy and the Merrells are sitting in the waiting room when House and company stroll up.

 

“He’s resting; he –“ Mindy starts.

  
” I’m Dr. House. I’m your son’s physician.”

 

Mrs. Merrell stands. “Oh, you’re the one we haven’t met yet.”

 

Mr. Merrell stands next to her. “You’re the one he hasn’t met. How can you treat someone without meeting them?”

 

House answers honestly. “It’s easy if you don’t give a crap about them. That’s a good thing. If emotions made you act rationally, then they wouldn’t be called emotions, would they? That’s why we have this nice division of labor: you hold his hand, I get him better. If I start tucking him in at night, well, that’s not fair to you guys, and if you start prescribing medicine, that’s not fair to me. So what I want to know is: who stepped on my side of the med? Who cared enough to get stupid enough to give him his cough medicine?”

 

Mindy tries to diffuse the situation. “When we checked in Dr. Foreman said –“

 

House cuts her off. “Tuesday, he’s getting better. Wednesday, he’s getting sick again. Somebody gave him his cough medicine Wednesday.” He pauses. “Come on, nobody’s gonna be mad. I just want to know who tried to kill the kid.”

 

Foreman winces slightly. “Dr. House, maybe we should –“  
  
Mrs. Merrell sounds worried. “His throat was sore.”

  
House presses the bridge of his nose. “Page Dr. Occam. He’s gonna want to hear about this.”

 

“Sorry!” She exclaims. “He was coughing, and I just wanted to help him –“

 

“Where are the pills?” House demands.

 

“He took the last of them before he was switched into that room.”

 

“They’re all gone?” Cameron questions her.

 

“It was just cough medicine!” She cries.

 

“No, it wasn’t.” House argues. “Where’s the bottle?”

 

She digs in her purse and hands it over. Chase, Mindy and Mrs. Merrell go to talk to the pharmacist. The girls wait outside while Chase heads to the back.

 

“We need to know exactly what you put in this bottle. We think it was colchicine, a gout medication.”

 

The pharmacist throws his hands up. “If the prescription said cough medicine, that’s what I dispensed.”

   
” The family is prepared to waive liability, all right? We just need to know what it was, what dosage it was –“  
   
The pharmacist glares at the teen. “It was cough medicine.”

 

Chase doesn’t listen and gives him the bottle. “Refill it.”

 

Outside the pharmacy area, Mrs. Merrell is trying to console herself, as well as Mindy.

 

“He’s going to be okay.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

“Does Brandon like that quality in you? You’re a little negative.”

 

“Things don’t always work out for the best.”

                  

“It doesn’t hurt to hope they do.” Mrs. Merrell sighs.  
   
”No. Not unless it makes you figure you can do whatever you want, like give people cough medicine.” Chase and the pharmacist come out from the back.  


“This is cough medication. This is what Brandon was supposed to get.” Chase shakes out three onto his hand. “They’re small, round and yellow. Can you tell this man what the pills in your son’s medicine bottle actually looked like?”

 

“They were small, round and yellow, exactly like this.”

 

“Those were the pills that Brandon was taking.” Mindy agrees.  


“Hey, I’m just a pharmacist, but I know what cough medicine looks like, Doctor.”  
 

Back in House’s office, he and Wilson are maneuvering through all the possibilities.

 

“It was so perfect. It was beautiful.” House bites his lip.  


“Beauty often seduces us on the road to truth.”

 

“And triteness kicks us in the nads.”

 

“So true.” Wilson sighs.

 

House looks surprised. “This doesn’t bother you?”

 

“That you were wrong? I try to work through the pain –“

 

“I was not wrong. Everything I said was true. It fit. It was elegant.”

 

“So… reality was wrong.”

 

“Reality is almost always wrong.” He pops two Vicodin in his mouth. “The cough medicine did something. Aggravated the condition. It’s all over the place, must be in his blood.”  


“What if it is his blood?” Wilson wisely decides not to comment on the pills.

 

“Lymphoma?”

 

“Unless you’ve got something better.”  
 

“Well, we foolishly ruled out lymphoma because his CT scan showed no adenophathy, CBC showed a normal diffen smear, bone marrow showed no –“

 

Wilson waves a hand. “Screw the tests. Do an exploratory laparotomy and find out what’s in there.”

 

“He has no blood pressure, no immune system and no kidneys. Surgery will kill him.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stick with the wrong pill theory.”

 

House stares at his friend. “I’ll schedule him for surgery.”

  
In Brandon’s clean room, Mindy and the Merrells are watching from a distance as the three doctors are working on Brandon.

 

“Okay, Brandon, we’re gonna run this tube through your heart and into the pulmonary arteries in your lung.” Foreman holds said tube.  
 

“Sensors will give us information we need for the exploratory surgery later this afternoon.” Cameron adds.

 

“My fingers are numb.” Brandon comments.

 

“Try not to move.” Foreman instructs. “We’re in the right atrium, trying to catch the flow through the tricuspid valve.”

 

Chase is at his side. “I think the catheter’s curling in the atrium.”

 

“Got it. We’re in the RV now.” He stops when a monitor beeps.

 

“Ectopy. You must have irritated the heart wall.”

 

“It’ll calm down.”

 

“He can’t tolerate any cardiac arrhythmia. Pull back.”

 

“He needs this surgery.” Another monitor beeps.

 

“Pressure’s dropped.” Cameron sounds worried.

 

“You still with us, Brandon?” Chase questions.  
  
”Get the curtains!” Cameron calls.

 

Chase closes them as they prepare the defibrillator. Chase is given the set and goes to work.

  
”Charging. Clear!” He shocks the other teen and checks a monitor. “Sign of rhythm.”

 

“I got a pulse.” Cameron announces.

 

Foreman sighs. “Yeah, but no surgery today.”  
 

House is back in the clinic. His next patient is a punk kid about the same age as Wilson.

 

“How you doing?”

 

“Okay.” The slightly younger teen shrugs.

 

“Great. I’m doing good, too. I get to knock off an hour early today. Know why? ‘Cause I kissed my boss’ ass, you ever do that? I think she just said yes because she wants to reinforce that behavior. Wants me to kiss a lot of other people’s ass, like she wants me to kiss yours.” The teen makes an odd face toward House, and the older teen continues. “What would you want, a doctor who holds your hand while you die, or a doctor who ignores you while you get better? I guess it would particularly suck to have a doctor who ignores you while you die.”  
   
”I should go…” The kid slowly makes his way toward the door.  


“You think it’s going to come out on its own? Are we talking bigger than a breadbasket? ‘Cause actually, it will come out on its own, which for small stuff is no problem. Gets wrapped up in a nice soft package and plop! Big stuff, you’re going to rip something, which speaking medically, is when the fun stops.”  


The kid quirks a brow. “How did you –“

 

House shrugs. “You’ve been here half an hour and haven’t sat down, that tells me its location. You haven’t told me what it is, that tells me it’s humiliating. You have a little birdie carved on your arm, that tells me you have a high tolerance for humiliation, so I figure it’s not hemorrhoids.” He pauses to some extent. “I’ve been a doctor quite a few years, you’re not going to surprise me.”  


“It’s an MP3 player.”

 

He’s silent a few minutes to digest the information. Finally, House exhales. “Is it… is it because of the size, or the shape, or the pounding bass line?  
 

The kid is worried. “What are we going to do?”

 

House looks at his watch and has never been more grateful. “I’m gonna wait.”

 

“For what?”

 

Instead of answering, House quickly gathers himself and walks out of the room. He hands the file to a nurse at the main desk. “Okay, it’s 3:00, I’m off. Would you tell Dr. Cuddy there’s a patient in Exam Room 2 that needs her attention? And the RIAA wants her to check for illegal downloads.”

 

He signs out, laughing at his small inside joke. Before he can get very far though, Cameron runs up to him.

 

“Brandon’s not ready for surgery.”

 

“Okay, well, let’s leave it a couple of weeks. He should be feeling better by then. Oh wait, which way does time go?”

 

“He crashed during prep. He’s also experiencing pain in his fingers. I think some bug may have gotten in the clean room. I think we should double his dosage of GCSF to temporarily boost his blood cell count.”

 

“Pain in his fingers… right.”

 

House pops a Vicodin and then reluctantly follows Cameron to the clean room. Brandon’s parents are in the hallway just outside.

 

“Hi again.” House mutters as he enters the prep room without the necessary robes or ventilation. He marches up to Brandon despite the Merrells shouting at him. “Hey! How y’all doing? Interesting fact: every seven years it’s a whole new you. Inspiring metaphor, huh?”

  
Chase looks up alarmed. “Dr. House, this is a clean room.”  


“Yeah, I read the sign. But cells of different organs reproduce at different rates.” He touches Brandon’s leg as he speaks. Brandon flinches and makes noises of protest. “So, a new kidney every three years, a new stomach lining every week…. This is why colchicine poisoning causes all of these symptoms but not all at once.”  
  
”But we went to the pharmacy.” Mrs. Merrell calls from outside, through the speaker. “We saw the pills!”  


“Colchicine does its damage in a very specific order. First of all, there’s a pain in the abdomen, the rash, the fever… isn’t that what you got first? Then, the kidneys go, which is exactly what happened to….”  
 

“Brandon.” Cameron gasps.  


House nods. “Right. Then it screws up your bone marrow, and then – neuropathy. Painful tingling in the fingers and toes. And what do you suppose happens after that?” He rips out some of Brandon’s hair. His mother doesn’t look too thrilled. “Hair loss. The bad new is: your special boy is doing drugs.”  
  
Mrs. Merrell protests. “No, he’s not!”

 

“Ecstasy?” House pointedly ignores her.

 

“No1”

 

Brandon swallows, admitting his shame. “Twice, with Dan and Mike.”  


“D’you know what they cut that stuff with? Apparently colchicine, unless you ingested the colchicine through your contact lens solution, or skin cream, or some other drug you’re lying about. I don’t know how it happened, I don’t care how it happened, it happened. Start….”

 

“Brandon.” Cameron supplies again.

 

“Lovely name. Start Brandon on fab fragments, and give him some Tylenol for the hair I pulled out. And get some air in here!” He leaves the room and walks off with Wilson. “Make a note: I should never doubt myself.”  
  
Wilson smirks. “I think you’ll remember. You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to be wrong now and then.”

 

“What, you don’t care about these people?”

 

As House and Wilson walk to the pharmacy, the ducklings remain in the clean room. Foreman inserts an IV. The other two watch the monitor for distress.  
  
” The colchicine interferes with the ability of the heart muscle to contract pumping blood, lowering your blood pressure.” Foreman is explaining. “The antibodies we’re giving you should neutralize the colchicine, allowing your heart to beat at its normal rate.”  
  
”When will you know?”  
  
Cameron smiles at him. “We know now.

 

Foreman gives the people outside a thumbs-up. Mrs. Merrell hugs her husband, and then hugs Mindy. At the pharmacy, House begins pawing through the medicines. The pharmacist is nowhere in sight.  


“Big weekend?” Wilson questions.  


“It’s not for me, I’m fully stocked.”

 

“Cuddy got you doing inventory?”

 

“Nope. Trying to solve that kid’s case.”

 

Wilson blinks. “The gout medicine OD?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“The fact that I know that it’s a gout medicine OD would seem to indicate that the case is already solved.”

 

“Well, you’d be wrong.”  


“What about the fact that the kid is now, I believe the technical term is, not sick?”

 

“You know how many forms of colchicine there are on the market?”

 

“Stop it.” Wilson groans, slightly worried about his friend.

 

House seems to not have heard him. “Neither do I, but it’s a lot. Pills, powders, liquids, IV fluids…. Somewhere at a party, in his coffee, up his nose, in his ear, this kid had some.”  
  
Wilson sighs again. “So, you’re not happy with your Ecstasy theory?”

 

“He said he used it twice.”

 

“People lie.”

 

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna lie, it’s –“

 

“You know what,” Wilson cuts him off. “I’m not interested.”

 

“Not curious?”

 

“No, because I’m well-adjusted.”

 

He walks off to his office to pack up. House acknowledges his leave but says nothing of it. Meanwhile, Cameron and Chase check up on Brandon.  
  
”Temperature’s normal.” Cameron smiles.

 

“I want Cousin Sharon there.” Brandon grins.

 

“If we invite Sharon, we have to invite all the cousins.”

 

“So what?” Mindy asks. “My side of the family doesn’t need anything.”

 

Brandon starts coughing, though not near as bad as he has been. “Don’t suppose I could have some of those cough pills, huh? They’re okay, right?”  


“Yes, you’re doing great.” Cameron informs him.

 

Chase grins then. “You should invite Dr. House.”

 

“Will he come?”

 

“No, but he’ll send a gift.”  
  
”I’ll make sure it’s a good one.” Cameron adds, handing Brandon the cough pills.

 

“There’s a letter on the back of these pills.” He notices.

 

“Your old pills didn’t have a letter on them?”

 

“No. Round and yellow, but no letter.”  
   
”Well, these will help your cough.”

 

She starts to leave when Chase speaks up. “Hey, you want to go get some –“

 

“No.”

 

“She’s interested.” Brandon nudges Chase’s arm as Cameron leaves. “Hey, you’re in my seminary class, aren’t you?”  
 

“Yeah.”  
  
Back in the pharmacy, it looks like a disaster area. House is propped up against a cabinet as he analyses two sets of pills. He has found the colchicines, and he compares them to the cough medicine: small, round and yellow, but minus the letter.


	4. Maternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> babies have a pandemic scare  
> how's cameron?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've already posted shit here and i was having an okay time an hour ago. then this damn website ate my 4th chapter twice. i said a whole paragraph about me on hiatus and how i love this fandom and the people in it. i dont remember what i said anymore and i didnt cope it anywhere.

”MRI results are back.” A dramatic doctor walks into an unidentifiable hospital room.  
  
”And?” The patient asks.  
  
”It’s what we expected. The accident caused serious damage.”

 

Beyond the hospital room is a small screen on a small radio. A teenaged doctor, who walks to a chair and opens a cup of jello, carries the radio.

 

“It’s amnesia.” The doctor exclaims along with the on-screen doctor.  
  
”I’m sorry.”  
  
”I just can’t believe it.”  
  
Two nurses from the surgical delivering wing, Lim and Dr. Kubisak, walk into the sitting room, talking. The two are roughly the same age, in their mid-twenties.  
  
”Enjoying our lounge, House?” Lim questions off-handedly as Dr. Kubisak moves over to the mini fridge.  
  
”I just came in to get milk for my coffee, which you’re out of.”  
  
”Flat or sparkling?”  
  
”Flat.” House mutters as Lim speaks simultaneously, “Sparkling.”  
   
Kubisak throws a bottle to Lim.  
  
”So, the Hartigs?” Kubisak goads his friend.  
  
”Their baby gets a fever.”  
  
”Wait, don’t tell me. Their kid had a seizure.”  
  
”Yep. The parents, of course, start freaking and I have to deal with that for an hour.”  
  
”Like it was your fault.”  
  
”She was perfect when I delivered her. If you want to blame someone, blame the pediatrician.”  
  
”So, how’s the kid now?”  
  
”Bowel obstruction, she’s under observation, she’ll be fine.”  
  
”Pediatrician’ll take all the credit.”  
  
House exits suddenly, leaving his radio and most of his jello behind. He heads directly for pediatrics, paging Wilson to come down immediately. Of course, the younger teen does so. Without moving so much as graces, House delves directly into differentials.  
  
”Exhibit A: Baby girl Hartig. Term baby, 42 hours old. Went into seizures 6 hours ago, brought into the intensive care, diagnosed with obstruction of the small bowel.” He looks at Wilson apprehensively.  
  
”I’m still amazed you’re in the same room with a patient.”  
  
”People don’t bug me until they get teeth.” He pauses before continuing. “Exhibit B: Baby boy Hausen. Another term baby, 48 hours old. Brought into the NICU before the Hartig baby: fever of unknown origin, 101 degrees, trending upwards.”  
  
”Wow, that is amazing. You hung out in the OB/GYN lounge and heard about two sick babies. It’s eerie.” He makes a move to touch a baby bed.  
  
”Don’t touch that.” House snaps.  
  
Wilson freezes, speaking slowly and confusedly. “All right…”  
  
”We have an infection spreading in the hospital.”  
  
Wilson is absolutely skeptical about this leap. “These kids have totally unrelated illnesses.”  
  
”They fell sick within four hours of each other. They had the same delivery rooms, maternity rooms are neighboring, so transmission’s possible. They have the same symptoms.”  
  
”The Hartig girl has a bowel obstruction. No matter how close their beds are, I’m pretty sure kids can’t share a blockage.”  
  
”What does bowel obstruction on a chart indicate?”  
  
”Well, normally, I’d say it indicates a patient’s bowel is obstructed, but I’m pretty sure you have some deeper truth to impart –“  
  
”It means that some random doctor of indeterminate skill thinks that the patient’s bowel is obstructed.”  
  
Wilson tries not to laugh. “Okay, you’re upset because they threw you out of their lounge.”  
  
House is determined. “Look at the x-ray. It’s a normal gas pattern.”  
  
”You want, I can get you a key to the oncology lounge.”  
  
House ignores him. “Air. Air in the colon.”  
  
”We’re getting TiVo.”  
  
”If it’s air, no bowel obstruction.”  
  
Wilson runs a hand over his face. “Even if it is air, it could have been there before the obstruction.”  
  
”No. Something’s infected both these infants.” He turns to face Wilson. “If you’re going to be an ass over this, I’m talking with Cuddy.”

 

Wilson only sighs again, and House swivels in step. He marches into Cuddy’s office, revealing all he’s pieced together. When he’s finished, Cuddy is staring up at him incredulously.  
  
”And you’re the only one who put this together because…?”  
  
”Because I’m the only one who looked at both kids. I want them isolated; I want the maternity ward shut down.”  
  
”Because you’re better at reading an x-ray than a radiologist.”  
  
”Radiologists always over-read babies’ x-rays, especially if they’re asked to rule out a pathology. He read into it what he wanted.”  
  
”Which is exactly what you’re doing. You’re finding a cluster because you think it’s interesting to find a cluster. Two… plain old sick babies would bore you.”  
  
House sneers. “See, this is why I don’t waste money on shrinks, ‘cause you give me all these really great insights for free.”  
  
Cuddy smiles. “Shrink. If you would consider going to a shrink, I would pay for it myself. The hospital would hold a bake sale, for God’s sake.”  
  
House is enraged at how nonchalant Cuddy is behaving. “We have an epidemic!”

 

Cuddy stops from going out the door and turns to House. Slowly, she speaks in a consoling voice. “Two sick babies is very sad, but it doesn’t prove an epidemic.”

 

She leaves. House is left alone in her office, asking no one “How many do?”

 

Gathering his bearings, House marches into the diagnostic lounge. Foreman is reading a book, Cameron is working on homework, and Chase is sleeping in a chair. House throws a big red book in Chase’s lap, startling him awake – and causing the other two to look in his direction.  


“Get up! We’re going hunting.”  
  
”For what?” Foreman asks, already on his feet.  
  
”Wabbits.”  
  
In some random maternity room, a mother and father are resting. Their newborn baby at the foot of the bed. House and Foreman enter the room; House picks up the baby, who starts to cry. This wakes the parents, but House doesn’t really care.  
  
”Hi.” He pauses to gage the baby. “Bye.” He then passes the baby to Foreman, and limps out of the room.

 

Foreman winces a little at their stares, but he places their baby down, reporting the findings. “He’s screaming, he’s fine.” Fully aware of the awkward situation, he smiles just as uncomfortably. “Good-looking baby.”  
   
In a delivery room, a birth is in process. The expectant dad is filming as Chase and Cameron stride in.  
  
”Oh, sorry, wrong room.” Cameron squeals.  
  
Chase give an ill at ease half-wave. “We’ll see you later.”  


Out in the hall, Cameron matches a gaze directed for Chase. “Twelve rooms, that’s it?”  
  
”Yep.” Chase agrees. “We’ve definitely checked the whole floor.” The duo meets up with House and Foreman by the elevator. “Good news, no epidemic.”  
  
Foreman glances to House. “Tragic, huh?”  
  
House looks at elevator as it slowly arrives to their level. “Overflow rooms, third floor.” He steps inside.  
  
Foreman exchanges looks with Cameron and Chase. “This imaginary infection has spread to the next floor?”  
  
Upstairs, mothers Kim Chen and Judy Lupino look worried. House enters the room, and Judy immediately rises, holding the infant.  


“We were just going to call.”  
  
”Did he get hot all of a sudden?”  
  
”Yeah.”

 

House places the child into the bed onto the cart, instructing the women to follow. He pages the maternity ward and Cuddy, informing them of the infantile epidemic. Babies are soon being brought into NICU. Cuddy is standing in the hallway just outside, but she turns toward a set of voices near the elevator.  
  
”Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” A man appears, coaxing his very pregnant wife in a wheelchair.  
  
”Excuse me!” Cuddy gains their attention. “Hi. Intake sent you up here?”  
  
”Yeah, my wife’s contractions are less than –“  
  
”Yeah, Intake messed up.” Cuddy cuts him off. “I’m very, very sorry. Nurse Alpret will arrange for an ambulance to take you to Princeton General.” She immediately starts to wheel the pregnant woman back to the elevator.  
  
”Wha –“  
  
”The maternity ward is temporarily closed.”  


“We have to leave?!” The woman is alarmed.  
  
”Yes, I am very sorry.” The elevator opens, and House comes out.  


“Why are you doing this?” The man questions as his wife groans.  
  
”You’ll be there very, very soon.” The elevator door closes, and Cuddy stands next to House. “Happy now?”  
  
”No.” He answers seriously. “But I am interested.”  
  
They stand there watching another baby being brought in, and House starts walking to his office. Cuddy joins him. The ducklings are already there, stressing a little. House ignored their strange, somewhat sympathetic looks, and brings his whiteboard out.  
  
”Three sick babies, and a fourth showing early symptoms.”  
  
”How bad?” Cuddy asks, knowing the ducklings have checked all the vitals.  
  
Chase groans. “Spiking fevers.”  
  
”BP’s plummeting.” Foreman bites his lip. “They’re barely able to keep systolic up; at this rate, they’ll be dead in a day.”  
  
”Where did this come from?” Cuddy’s voice is stressed.  
  
Cameron’s voice is sad. “Two delivery rooms, four different maternity rooms, no common personnel and no common equipment.”  
  
”Well, there’s gotta be something in common.”  
  
”Yeah.” House moans. “That would be the difference between an epidemic and a coincidence.”  
  
”I’m putting a team together.” Cuddy announces, finishing her thought as she walks out the door. “We’re going to start swabbing.”  
  
”What’s she gonna swab?” Foreman asks the room. “Every respirator, sink, vent, drain in the entire hospital? That’ll take months.”  
  
”A needle in a haystack.” Cameron agrees.  
  
”It’s worse than that.” House starts erasing the whiteboard. “We don’t even know what the needle we’re looking for is.”  
  
”Then why’d you let her go do it?”  
  
”Because the hospital’s her baby, and her baby’s sick. If she doesn’t solve this soon, her head’s going to explode, and I don’t want to get any on me.” Chase and Cameron snicker softly at the comment. “So let’s figure out what’s in the haystack. Differential diagnosis, people.”  
  
”Parasite.” Foreman offers.  
  
Cameron shakes her head. “Spreading too quickly.” House writes “parasite” on the board and crosses it off.  
  
”Next?”  
  
”Virus?” Chase tries and House writes “virus”.  
  
Cameron shakes her head again. “Kids are too sick, and the blood tests show no lymphocytosis.”  
  
”And they’re not responding to a cycle of avirarapovirin.” Foreman includes. “If it’s some other virus, we’ll never find it in time, anyway.” House writes a question mark next to “virus”.  
  
”Which leads us to bacterial infection.” He also writes this on the board. “It’s not responding to broad-spectrum antibiotics, so we’ve got something resistant. The usual suspects.”  
  
”MRSA.” Foreman throws up his hands. “It’s always MRSA in hospitals.”  
  
Cameron considers the idea. “Maybe a contaminated food or water source? Pseudomonas.”  
  
Chase tries again. “VRE?”  
  
”H-Flu.” House writes down all the suggestions.  
  
”Okay, those are the big ones. Cultures will take 48 hours, might as well be post-mortem. We’ll start them on Vancomycin for the MRSA and Aztreonam for the rest. Let’s get MRIs, check for abscesses or some occult infection. I’ll be in the clinic. Grab me if you find something important. Or unimportant.”  
  
In a hallway, a nurse is wheeling a sick baby. The Hartigs look on as their baby is taken to the MRI room where Chase and Cameron wait. The baby is hooked up and placed into the machine. They continue this method with the other sick babies, watching all the results. Afterwards, the two need to start talking to the parents. Cameron takes on Kim and Judy.  


“We did a MRI on all the babies, and unfortunately, we didn’t find anything, so we’re starting him on the strongest antibiotics we’ve got, and we’re hoping that that’ll take care of it.”  
  
Judy gasps. “But he’s so tiny.”  
  
Kim moves onto the question. “How sick is he?”  
  
Cameron pauses. “His fever’s up to 103.5 and his blood pressures 80 over 40.”  
  
Judy takes up the questioning. “Um, how bad is that?”  
  
Cameron freezes up, and Foreman appears behind her. He answers for his co-worker. “It, it’s low. The heart needs to circulate the blood. If it’s weak, oxygen isn’t getting to the liver, the kidneys, the brain.”

 

Kim nods sadly. Judy speaks up. “Um, I have to ask you something.”  


“Judy –“ Kim gasps.  
  
”No, no, Kim. Let me. Um, I had a cold last month, and I told the doctors about it, and –“  


“Honey, this has nothing to do with you.”  
  
”Kim’s right.” Cameron finds her voice again. “Your son was born healthy. He caught the infection after his birth. There’s no reason to think he got it from you.”  
  
”But you don’t know, I mean – You don’t know how he got sick.”

 

Cameron sighs and looks at Foreman. They share looks with the mothers but say nothing more. In the hallway, Foreman turns to Cameron.  
  
”Pretty standard question: how sick is my child? You couldn’t answer it.”  
  
”I answered.”  
  
”You rattled off numbers! BP, O2 stats.… That’s not what they need to know.”  
  
”What they need to know is the future. Got a magic 8-ball?” She stops at the registry desk and starts to work on the charts.  
  
”No, just years of medical training. Look, I realize it’s tough to break bad news to family –“  
  
”Not as tough as hearing it.”  
  
”And I guess being the poor guy dying is toughest of all?”  
  
Cameron pauses. “No. It’s easier to die than to watch someone die.”

 

She leaves Foreman standing at the front clinic desk. While this is going on, Cuddy has brought in juniors and seniors from nearby high schools who have an interest in medics. She has them swabbing every aspect of the maternity ward. Wilson checks in on her, wondering what all she’s got them doing.  
  
”Well, we’re checking the vents, it could be airborne. Somebody get the sinks, too, and underneath them.”  
  
A certain student with a tie, appropriately named Tyler, volunteers. “I’ll get it.”  
  
”How many med students have you got swabbing the decks?”  
  
”Oh, what else are they going to do? It’s not like they’re delivering babies.”  
  
”Find anything yet?”  
  
”Ah, yeah. About half the antibacterial gel dispensers are empty or broken.”  
  
”That’s bad.” He nods. “And diagnostically, completely insignificant.”  
  
”Well, if the staff can’t wash their hands, it’s no wonder an infection has spread.” As they talk, Tyler’s tie has been hanging in the sink as he scrubs. “Hey, tie clip!”  
  
Tyler looks up. “Sorry?”  


“We have an epidemic in this hospital and your tie is becoming a Petri dish. Put on a tie clip or take the damn thing off.”  
  
In the clinic, a patient named Jill complains to House.  
  
”My joints have been feeling all loose, and lately I’ve been feeling sick a lot. Maybe I’m overtraining; I’m doin’ the marathon, like, ten miles a day, but I can’t seem to lose any weight.”  
  
House looks tired. “Lift up your arms.” She does so, and he looks her over. “You have a parasite.”  
  
”Like a tapeworm or something?”  
  
”Lie back and lift up your sweater.” She lies back, but she still has her hands up. “You can put your arms down.”  
  
”Can you do anything about it?”  
  
”Only for about a month or so. After that it becomes illegal to remove, except in a couple of states.” He responds tiredly as he starts to ultrasound her abdomen.  
  
”Illegal?”  
  
”Don’t worry. Many women learn to embrace this parasite. They name it, dress it up in tiny clothes, and arrange playdates with other parasites –“  
  
”Playdates…”  
  
House shows her the ultrasound. “It has your eyes.”  
  
”But… that’s impossible.”  
  
”Well, I assume you weren’t getting your period. Maybe that should have given you an inkling.”  
  
”But I’m on this birth control implant…”  


“Yeah, I know. I saw the scar on your arm.”  
  
”…and my doctor said I might not get any periods at all if it was working.”  
  
”Mm-hmm. Interestingly enough, you also don’t get any periods if it isn’t working, which is why you were supposed to get regular pregnancy tests.” Jill makes a pained face as he speaks. “I’m going to send a nurse in here to schedule your prenatal care. You’re due in about five months, so start planning the shower.”  
  
”Um, Doctor? Please. Me and my husband wanted to have a kid soon, but… oh, God. Like four months ago we had this really big fight. He moved out. I did something stupid.”  
  
House nods. “One-night stand?”  
  
”Ex-boyfriend.”  
  
”I’ll schedule you a paternity test, too.”  
  
”I can’t let my husband know.”  
  
”Does the old boyfriend look like your husband?”  
  
Jill thinks a little. “Yeah…”  
  
”Then just have the kid. He’ll never know. The most successful marriages are based on lies. You’re off to a great start.”

 

He leaves, but Jill looks like she’s going to cry. With a bit of a heavy heart, House slinks back to his office. The ducklings are already there, looking positively sleepy and disgruntled.

  
”Well, you look cheery.” He grumbles. “What’s going on?”  
  
Cameron breaks first. “The Hartig and Chen-Lupino babies. Their kidneys are shutting down.”  
  
Chase moves beside her. “And the urine tests show no casts.”  
  
”Which means the antibiotics are causing the kidney failure.”  
  
”You’re the nephrologist. Which one did it? We’ll take ‘em off that one. Don’t tell me both Vancomycin and Aztreonam can –“  
  
Chase sighs exasperatedly. “They both can cause this. There’s no way to know which one it is. No test.”

 

House stares at Chase. Foreman cuts off the thought processes.  
  
”We can’t take them off the antibiotics. They’ll die of the infection.”  
  
Cameron whines, “If we leave them on both the antibiotics they’ll die of kidney failure.”  
  
”So, we take our best guess, then.” Chase yawns. “Which drug’s causing the kidney failure?”  


“It’s like I said: it’s always MRSA in hospitals.” Foreman’s yawn follows. “Take ‘em off Aztreonam.”  
  
Cameron yawns in succession. “I still think it’s the pseudomonas. I vote to take them off the Vancomycin.”  
  
After a long silence, House bites back a yawn and nods. “There’s no point in guessing. Take one kid off Vancomycin and the other off Aztreonam.”  
  
Chase is confused. “They have the same disease, you want to give them different treatment?”  
  
Foreman is enraged. “What the hell are you doing?”  
  
”Therapeutic trial to find the cause of the infection.”  
  
”That’s wrong.”  
  
”We have four sick kids, at least. Who knows how many more haven’t started showing symptoms yet?”  
  
Foreman tries not to shout. “We have a duty to these two!”  
  
House snaps back. “If these two have different reactions we know how to save the rest.”  
  
”So you’re condemning one of these kids to die based on random chance.”  
  
After a pregnant pause, House looks over his fellows. “I guess I am.”  
  
In NICU, the babies are crying. In Cuddy’s office, she, House and a hospital attorney named Alex are arguing over his decision.  
  
”So, you’re going to flip a coin? That’s how you decide which baby lives?”  
  
House’s voice is sarcastic but without the edge. “Can I borrow a quarter?”  
  
Alex sounds pissed. “Do you want to get sued, lose your license, House? Well, generally I’d applaud that, but my job is to protect this hospital, so I strongly advice you to come up with a medical rationale why Baby A should get Medicine X and vice-versa.”  
  
”Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, Slick. We didn’t all go to law school. Your advice is that I should use medical reasons to make medical decisions? Hmm, that’s not going to be as easy…”  
  
”Any medical justification.” Alex agrees. “Doesn’t need to be a good one.”  


”Well, Hartig sounds Jewish, so does Aztreonam, so we’ll take the Hartig kid off Vancomycin, how’s that?”  
  
Cuddy throws her hands on her desk. “You can’t experiment on babies.”  
  
”Doctors experiment all the time.”  
  
”On adults. With their consent.”  
  
”Fine. I’ll get the parents’ consent.”  
  
Alex speaks up as he turns to leave. “Their informed consent. They have to know the other kid is getting a different treatment.”  
  
”Sorry, can’t do that. It’d be unethical for one patient to know about another patient’s treatment.”  
  
”They have a right to know.”  


“If they know, they won’t consent; that defeats the whole purpose.”  
  
”That’s their right.”  
  
House makes a full one-eighty. “Two more babies have just become symptomatic. I defer to your legal wisdom: which takes precedence? Six dying babies or a missing consent form?”  
  
”You can’t do it.”  
  
Cuddy sighs; taking in House’s appearance and persistence. “Do what you think is best.”

 

House grimaces and leaves. Cuddy looks very unhappy about the whole situation. As House walks to his office, he twirls a coin between his fingers. Finally, he stops at a desk. He spins it and intently watches how it lands. From this, he pages Foreman and Cameron, informing them of what to do. Foreman is with the Hartigs, and Cameron is with the Chen-Lupinos.  
  
”Your daughter’s kidneys are shutting down…” Foreman speaks calmly. “…so we’re going to take her off the Aztreonam.”

 

“But, uh, but what made her sick in the first place?” Ethan Hartig asks.

 

“We think it’s MRSA. Methicillin-Resistant Staph Aureus. It’s a very resistant form of a very common bacteria. Vancomycin is the best treatment for MRSA, so we’re gonna keep giving it to her.”

 

“Right. Is it gonna cure her?”

 

Foreman sucks in a deep breath. “Your child is very sick. You need to know that. This is a ‘hail Mary’ pass. It might cure her, it might not.”

 

Ethan leans back on the couch, careful to not wake his wife, defeated.  
  
Cameron is taking this very close to heart. “Your son’s kidneys are failing. We’re taking him off Vancomycin.”   
  
”What do you think is causing it?” Kim questions.  
  
”It seems to be a germ called pseudomonas. We’re hoping the Aztreonam will clear it up.”

 

“So, so that’ll cure him?” Judy asks carefully.

 

“We’ll know in 24 hours if it’s working.” She speaks with a smile on her face.  


Judy and Kim take the smile as a good sign of hope. They look relieved. Cameron walks away from them, over to Wilson at the reception desk. He looks very skeptical and calls her over.  
   
”What did you tell them?”  
   
 “I told them the truth.”

 

“They seemed relieved. You tell them how sick their son is?”

 

“I explained what was going on.”

 

Wilson is mad at this turnout. “Alison, their baby’s dying. If the parents weren’t in tears when you left, you didn’t tell them the truth.”

 

“That’s not how I see it.” She crosses her arms.

 

Wilson elevates his voice. “Do you want them blindsided? Want them coming up and saying “My God, my baby died, why didn’t you warn me?” Is that what you want?”

 

“So now it’s about worrying about them yelling at us?”

 

“No, it’s about getting them prepared for the likely death of their child.”  


“If their son dies tomorrow, do you think they’ll give a damn of what I said them today? It’s not going to matter; they’re not going to care; it’s not going to be the same ever again. Just give those poor women a few hours of hope.”

 

She walks away from him. Wilson stands there, running a hand over his face. In another area of the hospital, House is leaving his office. He runs into Jill, who is towing her husband behind her.

 

“Dr. House! Dr. House, this is my husband, Charlie.”

 

He narrows his eyes. “Who told you where my office was?”

 

“Jill, come on, he obviously doesn’t want us bothering him.” The man, Charlie, complains. “I’m not even sure he’s a real doctor.”  


House doesn’t care about the last remark, so long as he doesn’t look like a patient. “Ooh, I was trying to hide it.”

 

Jill pointedly ignores both of them. “Look, Doctor, this is about the mono you said you thought I had…”

 

“The mono?” He stares back at her.

 

“Yes. You know, shouldn’t Charlie be tested? You know,” She keeps it up while House looks at her as though she’s insane. “The test. The _blood_ test.  
   
House catches on then. “Right. Yeah, I’m sorry, I sometimes forget patients, I thought you were this idiot who doesn’t know how to use birth control.” He finishes his statement with a pointed look aimed for Jill.

 

Charlie misses the exchange. “I can’t have mono. I don’t even feel sick or anything.”

 

House bypasses them for the elevator. “That’s very often the first sign. Call my office in the morning, I’ll schedule him for blood tests.”

 

“Thank you!” Jill calls out, but the doors close.  
 

Cuddy is now swabbing medical equipment. Wilson walks up, becoming very aware that she is in desperate need of sleep.

 

“Find anything yet?”  


“No, just some baby formula being stored under a sink with a dripping faucet.”  
   
”Tap water contamination. You thinking pseudomonas infection?”

 

“I was. I wasted a couple of hours chasing it down, but of course the formula hasn’t been anywhere near the babies.”  
 

“Huh.” Wilson doesn’t know what else to say.  


“Whatever idiot stored them there –“

 

“All right, we’ll figure it out! Just… just calm down.”

 

“I am calm.” She snaps.  
  
She then scans the room and notices Tyler slacking off. He’s talking with another student, Madeline, and his tie is loose once more. Angry over this, she grabs a nearby pair of scissors and marches directly up to him. She pulls down on his tie and chops it off quickly.

 

“I warned you.” Se turns to face Wilson as she hands over the cut tie. “I did that calmly.”

 

Cuddy and Wilson then leave the scrubbing area for NICU. Karen Hartig is watching through the window and runs over to Chase when he walks out.

 

“Hey.” She catches his arm, speaking softly.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Is she any better?”

 

“Her fever’s been stable the last hour.”

 

“We’re not going to make it, are we?”

 

“Sorry?” He blinks.

 

“Me and Ethan.” She clarifies. “Our next-door neighbor, their little boy died in a car crash and she and her husband split up, like, four months after the funeral. It’s just, uh, what always happens, right?”

 

The fifteen-year-old doctor-in-training shifts from foot-to-foot. “Um, what happens to patients after they leave the hospital, I don’t know, but… try not to get ahead of yourself.”

 

Loud beeping is heard from within NICU. Chase runs back in, confronted by a nurse named Abigail.

 

“Dr. Chase? Activity on the monitor.”

 

“How long?”

 

“I don’t know; it just started.”  


“Pulse?”  
 

Nurse Abigail checks for a pulse. It’s thready, but it’s there. Chase mutters a few things, and then asks for an arterial line. They don’t have one yet. The two work on getting a BP when Karen wanders inside.

 

“You can’t come in here.”

 

“Is my baby dying?”

 

“Mrs. Hartig,”

 

She cuts him off with a scream. “Is she dying?!”  
  
Nurse Abigail half-pushes the woman out the door. Karen squirms in the other woman’s grasp. “Ma’am, you’ll have to leave.”

 

As Nurse Abigail succeeds, Chase shouts after the mother. “It’s not your baby!”

 

The nurse and teen doctor then continue working on the BP. It’s dropping. Cameron is over as well, checking the heart rate. House walks in, standing next to Wilson.  


“They start the levofed?” His voice is calm, but his tone is worried.  
 

Wilson picks up on it. “They’ve got it.”

 

The two watch from a distance as Kim and Judy come up to the window. House bites his lip.  


“Still dropping. Fifty over ten.” Chase’s voice is rushed.  
 

“Can’t hold BP with three pressers?” Cameron’s voice is panicked. “We’re losing pulse.”  


“V-fib.”

 

“Shut the blinds.” Wilson orders.  
 

Nurse Abigail obliges, and Judy begins to cry. Wilson and Chase move over to prep the defibrillator. Wilson hands the paddles off to the younger teen.  


“Charging. Clear.” He attempts to shock the infant. It does nothing, as Foreman points out.  
   
”Still v-fib.”

   
 “Charging. Clear.” Chase delivers another shock. “Charging. Clear.” He gives another shock. Nothing changes. Foreman again points out that the child is in v-fib. “Charging. Clear.” He delivers another shock. “Charging.”  


“Chase.” House’s harsh yet saddened voice breaks through the room. “Time of death: 6:57 PM.” After a long pause, he sighs. “The Aztreonam doesn’t work. Double-cover all the other babies with Vancomycin.”  
   
 The room is still in quiet distress when Chase finally speaks. “I’ll do it.”

 

House nods. “Cameron, you tell the parents. Tell them their child probably saved five lives.”

 

“But Chase should –“

 

Letting a little anger seep into his voice, he speaks again. “Chase is busy.”

 

“You’re the attending.” Cameron tries to worm her way out of it.  
  
Rather than argue, House turns to Wilson, looking at him sharply. “Make sure she does her job.”  


Wilson knows better than to try and talk House out of this. He motions to Cameron, and the two teens walk up to Kim and Judy. The women look positively horrified, and Cameron freezes up. Wilson takes one look at her and heaves a sigh. He explains to them what’s happened. As they sob, he also mentions that their child saved other lives. Wilson and Cameron then leave. Cameron looks back through the window at the crying women. Wilson, on the other hand, meets House at the elevator. It’s past midnight; almost one am.

 

“I asked you to make sure she does her job, not do it for her.” House remarks with venom evident in his voice.  


“She froze up.”

 

“She felt sorry for the parents so she shut up. You felt sorry for her so you opened your mouth.”

 

“She has a problem.” Wilson pouts.  
 

“Yeah, she needs to deal with it. If you hadn’t bailed her out, she would have done it.”

 

“Great, then she wouldn’t have slept for two weeks. Maybe she should be thinking about a different specialty.” Wilson frowns, following House into the elevator as it opens. “Lab work, research?”  
  
Chase dodges inside as the doors close. Wilson simply raises an eyebrow, while House thumps the ground with his cane.

 

“Yeah, what is it?”  
   
 “The Hartig baby. She’s getting sicker, too. The Vancomycin isn’t working, either.”

 

“Damn it.”

 

House presses the elevator button for his office floor, rather than the lobby button. The three take the trip in silence. House barges into his office with the other two trailing. He immediately walks up to his whiteboard and pulls out a blue marker.  
  
”Vancomycin doesn’t kill it. Aztreonam doesn’t kill it. What the hell is this?”

 

Foreman lets a yawn escape. “It’s a super bug.”

 

“It could be VRSA.” Chase offers up.

 

“There’s only been two reported cases of it ever in the United States.” Cuddy remarks from her sullen spot at the table.

 

“One of the kids, the Hausen baby, had a skin rash.” Chase points out. “It could be scalded-skin syndrome which would be a sign of VRSA.”

  
”Then these kids are dead.” Foreman finishes flatly.

 

“This is our fault. Doctors over-prescribing antibiotics.” House announces. “Got a cold? Take some penicillin. Sniffles? No problem. Have some azithromycin. Is that not working anymore? Well, got your Levaquin. Antibacterial soaps in every bathroom. We’ll be adding Vancomycin to the water supply soon. We bred these super bugs. They’re our babies. Now they’re all grown up and they’ve got body piercings and a lot of anger. On the other hand, maybe antibiotics had nothing to do with it. Did you notice how low his BP was at the end? Even with three pressers?”  
   
”Heart damage?” Wilson asks weakly.  
 

At this, House scans the room, taking a close look at everyone. Cuddy looks a bit manic, as though she’s been running on coffee just to stay awake for hours. Foreman is blinking, trying to refrain from falling asleep. Cameron has puffy eyes, mixed with sadness and tiredness. Chase looks ten minutes off from Slumberland. Wilson also looks like he could fall over with the slightest push. House feels the pain in his thigh and realizes he hasn’t had a Vicodin in a few hours. He knows what he needs to do.

  
”Go home.” House waves to everyone. “There’s no more you can do now. Go home and get some sleep. Come back around ten.”

 

Slowly, the teenagers leave the office-conference room. Wilson looks like he wants to say something, but he seems to refrain. Once everyone is out of sight and House hears the distant elevator ding, he shuffles to his desk for a couple Vicodins. He swallows them dryly and then reluctantly heads to the coroner’s office. Preparing to complete an autopsy on his lost patient, he speaks into a little microphone.

 

“Baby boy Chen-Lupino. Time of death 6:57 PM Thursday, December 2nd, 2004.”

 

House sleeps on the couch in Wilson’s office afterwards. Nothing feels right to him, and he knows he needs to sleep. He can’t bring himself to go home though, so this is where he ends up. He wakes up from the basic leg pain a little after four. He exercises by walking around Wilson’s office before heading back to the couch for more sleep. This time, he wakes up a little before eight. Now, he gets up and makes a pot of coffee.

 

He pours some in his red mug and eats a candy bar from the vending machine in the hall before taking another Vicodin. Wilson catches him, followed by Chase and Foreman. Cameron is next inside, also accepting the surprising generosity of the coffee offer. Cuddy finally arrives in House’s office. She accepts a cup as well, and the six simply stay like this for a while. Eventually, House breaks the silence by getting back on track.

 

“This is a cross-section of the Chen-Lupino boy’s myocardium. Fibrosis, lymphocytic infiltrates.”

 

Cameron jumps on board. “There was no sign of lymphocytosis in the blood tests.”

 

“Yes, well, we all had plenty of good reasons to think bacterial. Nobody is scolding you.” He hands Cameron his cane as he moves up to the whiteboard. “Unfortunately, all of those clever reasons were wrong. It is a virus infecting their hearts.”

 

Foreman sets down his mug. “We’re screwed. We can’t chase down a virus; there’s a thousand possibilities.”

 

“We could run gels, antibody tests.” Cameron looks over to him.

 

“A thousand of them? The kids don’t have enough blood.”

 

House breaks this up. “Chase, you’re the intensivist. How many could we do before we risk exsanguinations on the kids?”

 

“You’re talking vials, not stick tests? I wouldn’t take more than five or six.”  
   
House writes ‘Virus’ on the board. “Okay, so we have to narrow the thousand viruses down to six. Now, the autopsy’s shown us what the virus does. So, let’s go. What do we know?”  


“Ribavirin and acyclovir don’t knock it out.” Wilson contributes.  


“Cross out the herpes viruses.” Cuddy joins the conversation.

 

“Also adenovirus.” House mutters as he starts to make a T-chart on the board. “What else, what else? Keep talking.”

 

“Well, it, it only seems to hit children. The mothers aren’t sick, so…” Chase rubs the back of his neck.  


Foreman continues. “No toxoplasmosis, no rubella. Cross out the entire TORCH Syndrome.”

 

Wilson glances up. “You didn’t find any lung damage?”

 

“No.”

 

“None of the paramyxoviridae.”

 

House taps his marker. “Cardiac scarring, people.”

 

Chase is back up. “CMV?”  


Foreman nods now. “Enteroviruses, too, I think.”

 

“Echo 11.” House mutters to himself as Cuddy adds, “Influenza A.”

 

“Influ A. Yes.” House agrees quietly as he writes more ideas on the board. “And? We see more ideas being written on the board.] I’m putting RSV down as a yes. That makes eight.”  
   
 Chase twists his face. “Eight vials of blood is pushing it.”

 

House sighs. “Pushing it, but we love that! Get the antibody kits, start testing the sick kids.”  
  
Wilson agrees. “All right, I’ll start looking into whether there are any antivirals for these eight.”  
 

House nods but then stills. “Wait a second. The, the kids on the floor who didn’t get sick. Are any of them still in the hospital?”  
  
 Wilson tilts his head. “They got moved to the fifth floor. But they’re probably all checked out by now.”

 

Cuddy shakes her head. “No, the Lindpert boy had a bit of jaundice. He should be checking out today.”

 

“I want to test his blood, too.”  
   
”Why?”

 

“‘Cause we need all the information we can get. The healthy kid can be our control group.”

 

“I’ll just tell his parents he can’t check out because he has the smallpox.”

 

The group disbands. Chase heads out with Cuddy so he can draw blood from the Lindpert boy. Meanwhile, Cameron sets out to draw blood from the sick babies. Once they’re done, the two teens test the blood and regroup in House’s office.  
  
”What did we get?”

 

Foreman looks over the charts now spread around the conference table. “Well, the sick babies all tested positive for Echovirus 11.”

 

“Great.”

 

“And CMV, and parvovirus B19.”

 

House looks back in disbelief. “ _Three_ viruses?”  
  
Foreman nods. “What’s weirder, the healthy kid we tested: he’s positive for Echovirus 11 and CMV antibodies as well.”

 

House sighs again. “They’re infants. They have their mother’s blood, their mother’s antibodies.”

 

Foreman balks. “So we just learned nothing?”

 

“Uh-uh. We have half the picture. The healthy kids survived because their mothers’ antibodies saved them.”

 

“The mom had CMV in the past she’d have the antibodies for them, the kid would be immune from it. So we test the sick kids’ moms for Echovirus, CMV, and parvovirus.”

 

House nods again. “And whichever they don’t have the antibodies for, that’s what’s killing their kids.”

 

Foreman jumps up. “I’ll test the mothers.”  
  
True to his word, he begins drawing blood from Karen. He moves on to the other mothers while House crosses off Parvovirus B19 and CMV from his board. The blood tests come back, and House circles Echo-11. Cameron then gets up to join Foreman in talking with Karen and Ethan.  
  
”Have you discovered what’s wrong with our baby?”

 

Foreman nods. “Echovirus 11. It’s an enterovirus. It lodges in the intestinal tract.”

 

Cameron steps up to explain. “Enteroviruses cause diarrhea and flu-like symptoms in adults, maybe a rash, but for newborns it can be deadly. It’s damaging her heart.”

 

Karen nods, trying to understand. “Well, is there anything you can do?”

 

“Viruses are more difficult to treat than bacterial infections. We still haven’t found a cure for the common cold.”

 

Ethan doesn’t quite meet any doctors’ eyes. “So, there’s no vaccine, or…”

 

Foreman bows his head. “There’s a company in Pennsylvania developing an antiviral. It got positive results in a lab setting and we managed to get our hands on it.”

 

Cameron helps with Baby Hartig, but then realizes what really needs to happen. Nurse Abigail is in the room, and the two share a look. Cameron goes back out to talk wit the parents.

 

“Can I get your guys’ help with something?”

 

“Sure.” Ethan nods.

 

“Your daughter, her –“

 

Ethan cuts her off. “Maxine.”

 

Karen smiles. “That’s her name.”

 

“We need someone to hold Maxine off of the bed while the nurse changes her sheet.”

 

“Sure.” Ethan repeats.  
  
 The parents are fitted into scrubs as they follow Cameron back into the room. The parents carefully lift Maxine from the table. Cameron and Abigail change the sheets carefully and calmly. Down the hall, House nearly passes Foreman as he presses the elevator button.

 

“Hey, Foreman? Got a minute?”

 

Rather than verbally respond, Foreman walks in after. “So, pulmonary resistance is stabilized for the two kids, but BP’s still –“

 

“No news, then. How’s Cameron?”

 

Foreman raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Dr. Cameron?”

 

House rolls his eyes. “Sure. Let’s start with her, and move on to all the other Camerons we know.”  


Foreman looks down sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just not used to you asking about someone’s well-being.”

 

“I can understand how the question would surprise you. I don’t quite get how it would confuse you.”

 

“Why do you want to know?”

 

The elevator dings and they step out at the lobby. They start walking, though not toward the exit.

 

“Why do you want to know why I want to know?”

 

“Just curious.” Foreman shrugs.

 

“Me too.”

 

“You don’t _get_ curious.”  
  
House looks affronted. “I’m the most curious man in the world.”  
  
”Not about trivialities.”  
  
”Well, then, this must not be trivial. How is Cameron handling everything?”  
   
They reach the doors of the clinic.  
   
”Just fine.”

 

“Great, glad we talked.”  


With that, Foreman retreats to the cafeteria. He hasn’t had anything more than toast and coffee, and it’s already past lunchtime. House heads for a direct exam room where he knows he’ll find Jill. He collects a clipboard and walks up to her.

 

“Your husband is definitely the source of your “mono”.”

 

“Oh, wow. Oh, thank God. Wow, I’m going to be a mom. Whoa, heh heh. Thank you so much; I gotta get you a gift or something.”

 

Tightly smirking, he responds. “Sometimes the best gift is the gift of never seeing you again.”  


“Okay, all right! But, Dr. House, you’ve been so awesome. I mean, I really, totally trust you. Do you think you –“

 

“No.” He answers resolutely.  


“-- could do the prenatal?”

 

“No.”  


“Or deliver the baby?”

 

“That would be no.” He remarks, patience wearing exceedingly thin.

 

“Okay!” She giggles nervously.

   
In NICU, Cameron discovers something and shows Chase for confirmation. He checks out Maxine Hartig with the stethoscope. They then leave Maxine under Abigail’s care so they can head to the waiting room to talk with Karen and Ethan.  
  
Ethan sees them first. “Oh, God. It’s good news.”

 

Chase grins. “No, it’s great.”

 

Ethan and Karen laugh and cry at the news. The teens lead the parents to a room before heading back to collect their baby. Maxine is wheeled in, and Karen is ecstatic to see and hold her daughter. Chase and Foreman stay with them a few moments longer, before joining Cuddy to help reunite the other families. A bit later, Cameron is packing up the differential room. House sneakily walks in.  
 

“They all gone?”

 

“Hartigs are checking out right now.”

 

“You look tired.”  


“Thanks.”

 

“It’s no wonder. You’ve had a hard time the last couple of days.”

 

Cameron scoffs. “And you haven’t?”

 

House bites his lip. “Not like you. Anyone who’s that awkward either has no experience around death or too much, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the former.” Cameron starts to put on her coat. “Chase told me about that idea you had: the parents holding the baby. Where’d you get that? Did you lose someone? Did you lose a baby?”  


“You can be a real bastard.” She remarks as she leaves.  


From the balcony, Cameron spots the Hartigs leaving the lobby elevator. They all look very happy, which makes Cameron smile. A few hours later, Wilson finds House sitting on a couch in the waiting room from earlier. The maternity ward is still closed for the rest of the day.  


“Unfinished business? I thought all of the team got off early.”

 

“I’m in the haystack.”

 

Wilson rolls his eyes at the House-ism. “Ah, because now you know you’re looking for a needle.”

 

“Right.” He answers, smiling slightly since Wilson understands him.

 

“If I tell you to “let it go,” it won’t make any difference, will it?”

 

“Enteroviruses are spread by humans. Fecal, oral… could be respiratory secretions, though.”

 

“So, Cuddy got stool samples from the whole staff. Just wait until they come back.”

 

“That won’t do it.”

 

“Why not?” Wilson sits down beside his friend.

 

“The shedder, whoever he is, is so virulent, Cuddy must have noticed him.”  
  
Wilson makes a hum of acknowledgement. It’s enough to prod House to continue his line of thought.

 

“And the babies didn’t share any common personnel. That’s what’s weird.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what’s weird.” Wilson agrees, though he doesn’t share the interest.

 

Wilson notices House hasn’t made any confirmation, and he follows his friend’s eye line. An old woman is pushing a cart around with teddy bears to give to the newborns. She coughs a little, onto the toys, and House allows his face to contort into one of those darker smiles. Something clicks and Wilson gets it. The woman has a cold virus, which travels to her hand, and then to the teddies that she touches. The virus moves from the fur on the teddy bear to the face of the babies.

 

“You solved it.”

 

House simply smiles, pulling himself to his feet with the cane.

 

“I haven’t had lunch yet. Want something, Birthday Boy?”

 

House laughs a little then with a slight nod. “And I know where we can eat it.”  
 

Both doctors are off-duty. Half an hour later, they’re sitting in the OB/GYN lounge. They’ve got half a sandwich and a coke each, with a bowl of fries and a bag of chips split between them.  
  
 “You saved my life.” A patient on the television exclaims.

 

“I just ran some tests. Your will and determination are what saved your life.” The doctor on-screen shakes his head.

 

“I know who I am now.”

 

“Yes, you do. And I know who I am as well.”  
  
The door to the lounge opens; House and Wilson look toward the sound. Doctors Lim and Kubisak walk in, a little exasperated.  
 

“Hey, seriously, man, you’re not supposed to be here.” Lim sighs.  
  
 “I’m performing a delivery.” He answers honestly.  
   
”You are?” Kubisak raises an eyebrow.

 

“Patient whose prenatal care I’ve been handling. Just checking her out a couple of minutes ago. Dr. Wilson here will be helping. Of course, I’ll need one of you two guys to supervise.”  


Wilson nods in agreement despite himself. Lim throws his arms down.  


“When’s she due?”  
   
”Late March.” Wilson responds, struggling to keep his voice in check.  
   
Kubisak frowns. “That’s five months from now.”  
   
House and Wilson share a grin. The former speaks up for the two of them. “Thank God these chairs are comfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday house and christmas is just around the corner


	5. Damned If You Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nun suffering from acute dermatitis and asthma treated by House with possibly the wrong medication comes dangerously close to death.
> 
> Also, it's Christmas Time in the city

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, two in one day. Because of my untimely hiatus.
> 
> so House is 19 now. Wilson is 18, and so is Cuddy, but her birthday will be coming up in a few chapters as well. Chase and Foreman have a while for their birthdays; they’re still 15. Also, Cameron’s got a while for hers; she is still 14.

There is only one day left till Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve. The clinic front desk has Christmas decorations on it, and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is playing in the background. Wilson is working on paperwork behind the counter, while House is leaning back in his chair and playing with candies. House has a giant stack of charts next to him, but he finds the holiday candies much more appealing – though he hasn’t eaten a single one.

 

“We are condemned to useless labor.”

 

“Fourth circle of Hell.” Wilson smirks in agreement. “Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate the whole of classic poetry.”

 

House flicks a candy at Wilson, landing on his friend’s lap. “Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody. Pretty sure Dante would agree that qualifies as useless.”

 

“You’re over two weeks behind on your charting.”

 

“Can’t be behind if I never intend to do it.”

 

House flicks another candy aimlessly, but this one nearly goes down Cuddy’s shirt. She scowls, walking over to the boys.

 

“What are you, eight?”

 

“Could an eight-year-old do this?”

 

House sticks out his tongue and makes an ugly face. Wilson looks over and smiles but says nothing. Cuddy only fumes more.

 

“You better stop or it’ll stick that way. You have a patient in Exam Room 1.”

 

House leans back farther. “Yeah, but see, see, I’m off at twelve and it’s already five of.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “She’s been waiting for you since eleven.”

 

Cuddy walks off after House reluctantly takes the case file. He glances back to Wilson as he walks toward the exam room. “Melancholy without hope. Which circle is that?”

 

He then walks into the exam room without a second thought, but everything quickly slows to a halt. There are three nuns – two of them who may be in their late twenties or early thirties, and a third who is maybe seventeen or eighteen… apparently his patient. He takes a sharp inhale and moves over to inspect her.

 

“Hi. I’m Dr. House. What seems to be the problem?” He pops a couple Vicodin.

 

One of the older sisters – St. Eucharist – nudges the patient. “Show him your hands, Augustine.”

 

She obliges, and House notices they are red and swollen. They’re covered in hives and sores. The other sister – St. Pius – gives her hypothesis.

 

“It looks like… stigmata.”

 

“Shhhh, Pius!” Eucharist snaps.

 

“You must be all the talk around the holy water cooler. You been washing a lot of dishes recently?”

 

Augustine nods. “I help out in the kitchen.”  


“Anything new in the kitchen?”  
  
Pius nods. “We just got a donation of saucepans and pots this week.”

 

Augustine pipes up. “I unpacked and washed them.”

 

“Should have spent your time saving souls, it’s easier on the hands. This is contact dermatitis; you’re allergic to dish soap.”  
   
 “Nonsense!” Eucharist exclaims. “We’ve always used that soap. Why is there a problem now?”

 

“I’ve been a doctor for years. Why do I have to keep assuring people that I know what I’m doing? A person can become allergic to substances that they’ve had repeated and prolonged exposure to. The good news is: free samples. Diphenhydramine. It’s an antihistamine. It’ll stop the allergic reaction. Take one every eight hours, it might make you feel a little sleepy. And get some of that over-the-counter cortisone cream.”  
  
”Thank you, Doctor.” Augustine responds politely.

 

He can’t help but smile as he hands over the pills in a small cup. “You want some water?”

 

She smiles. “I have some tea.”

 

“Well, you just relax for a few minutes. That stuff works pretty fast.”  


He leaves the room as the other sisters crowd around with a thermos of tea. House goes back to the desk where Wilson is still at work. He tosses his new file on top of his others. He and Wilson know he’ll get to them when he can’t sleep. Neither of them talk about it. House leans against the desk counter, and Wilson smirks.

 

“Still out by twelve, I see.”

 

“How do you solve a problem like dermatitis?”

 

“What?”

 

“Doctor?” Eucharist walks up to them. “I want to thank you for your patience.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows shoot up. “She talking to you?”  


“I don’t know. She’s certainly looking at me.”

 

“Oh, it’s good to get a secular diagnosis. The sisters tend to interpret their diagnosis as divine intervention.”

 

The woman is starting to irritate House, and he wants her to leave. “And you don’t? Then you’re wearing an awfully funny hat.”

 

“Oooh, boy. Excuse me.” Wilson leaps to his feet, carrying his remaining charts. He does _not_ want to get involved in this.

 

“If I break my leg, I believe it happened for a reason.” The sister continues as if Wilson hadn’t left. “I believe God wanted me to break my leg. I also believe He wants me to put a cast on it.”  


House smiles slightly, but it doesn’t last long. Sister Pius suddenly pops her head out of the door, shouting for him in alarm. He and Eucharist follow her voice back to exam room one. Augustine is on the floor, having difficulties breathing, as House pulls out his stethoscope. She wheezes harshly, eyes fluttering. House painfully gets down to her level.  
 

“Lift up your chin.”

 

She tries her hardest, though it becomes increasingly difficult. While he has the open, he listens to her breathing.

 

“Sister, you’re having an asthma attack. I need you to relax.”

 

He turns to Eucharist. “Roll up her sleeve, please.”

 

The older sister does so, as House grabs a syringe from the cabinet. He nods to Eucharist, silently thanking her and asking her to move. Once again, she does so, and House kneels down to talk to Augustine again – as he injects her.

 

“I’m giving you epinephrine, it’ll open your lungs and help you breathe.”

 

“What happened?” Eucharist is surprised.

 

“Did she take the pills?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s probably an allergic reaction.”

 

Sister Pius looks at him in disbelief. “She’s allergic to an anti-allergy medicine? How old are you?”  


Ignoring the last question, House resorts to sarcasm. “You figure somebody’s out to get her?” Then, hearing the shallow breathing fading away, he glances down to Augustine. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Better.” She smiles softly.  
 

“I’ll put you on some steroids instead.”  
   
She nods oddly. “Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?”  
  
 House nods. “It’s called adrenaline, it makes your heart beat fast.” He feels her pulse and his eyes widen. “But not this fast. Lie back.”

 

He turns to the older sisters as he opens Augustine’s shirt to listen to her heartbeat. “Get a nurse.”

 

In a panicked but not too loud voice, Sister Pius calls out. “Help! Somebody help us!”

 

Angry of no response and how weak the younger sister is getting, House harshly shouts loud enough for the entire clinic to hear. “Somebody get in here!” A tech and a couple nurses rush in at his shout. “Call a code and charge up a defibrillator. She’s got no pulse.”

 

House immediately starts CPR while the other sisters are being ushered out and the defibrillator is being wheeled in. Half an hour later, Augustine is in her own room. Her cross and Bible are on the table next to her. Her sisters are praying at either side. In Cuddy’s office, she’s blaming House for what happened.  
    
”You diagnosed the patient with allergies and prescribed antihistamine, she went into respiratory distress, and you injected her with epinephrine. Presumably 1 cc.”

 

“0.1 cc.” He corrects her. “That is the standard dose, that is what I gave her.”  


“People don’t go into cardiac arrest from 0.1 cc epinephrine.”  


“She must have a pre-existing heart condition that got exacerbated by the epinephrine.”

   
Cuddy crosses her arms. “It’s too bad you didn’t make a notation in the chart.”

 

“I can make it up right now.” He sneers, narrowing his eyes.  
 

“The drawer has syringes with both dosages, you could have easily reached for the wrong one.”

 

“But I didn’t.” House is rightfully persistent.

 

“Everyone makes mistakes. This is why doctors pay through the nose for malpractice insurance.”

 

“Relax, they’re not going to sue. Worse they’d do is whack my hand with a ruler.” He responds, using sarcasm to diffuse his anger before he does something he knows he’ll regret.

 

“And the discipline board? Are they gonna whack your hand, too?”

 

“You’re going to report me?”

 

“What choice do I have?”

 

“Uh, how ‘bout not report me?”

 

“I can justify keeping her here for 24-hour observation. If you haven’t found an underlying cause for the cardiac arrest by then I will have to notify our attorneys.”

 

House angrily looks at his watch and walks out. He finds Foreman at the elevator, and nabs Chase and Cameron in the hall.

 

“Differentials. Go.”

 

“Her hands were red and swollen, maybe she has a skin infection. Cellulitis? That could manifest with tachycardia.” Cameron wastes no time.

 

“There’s no history of fever. Results from the CBC didn’t indicate an infection.” Foreman rules it out.

 

“The eosinophils were mildly elevated, sed rate’s up a bit. Could be looking at a systemic allergic response.” Cameron tries again.

 

“It’s not allergic. Allergies don’t cause cardiac arrest like this. Could be inflammation of the blood vessels.” House shoots it down, and then comes up with his own idea.

 

“Vasculitis? That wouldn’t give you an elevated eosinophil count.” Foreman shoots it down.

 

“Churg-Strauss vasculitis would.” House thinks aloud. “Blood vessels of the heart, lungs and skin become inflamed causing the asthma, rash and heart problems. Covers all her symptoms.”

 

They reach the diagnostic office. They head inside, with the ducklings still talking as House moves on to his office to set some things down.

 

“Need a biopsy to diagnose.” Cameron reminds House.

 

“Chest CT’d be quicker.” Chase shrugs.  


“The lady just came in with a rash.” Foreman doesn’t like the vasulitis idea.

  
House returns to the office and pauses, staring at the wild display of candy canes sprawled across the table.

 

“What the hell are those?”  


“Candy canes.” Cameron answers calmly. Foreman and Chase each take one.  


House makes a repulsive sound. “Candy canes? Are you mocking me?”

 

Chase immediately puts his back on the table, though Foreman rolls his eyes.

 

“No! It’s Christmas and, and I, I, I thought –“Cameron stammers.

 

“Relax. It’s a joke.”

 

Chase picks the cane up again, placing it in a pocket. Foreman rolls his eyes again and speedways back to the case.

 

“Isn’t the prognosis for Churg-Strauss a bit grim?”

 

“Yeah.” Cameron nods. “Untreated only 33% of patients survive past a year; treated, five years.”

 

“Then I’d definitely suggest treatment.”

 

Foreman crosses his arms. “If it was any other attending doctor, I’d say that he made a mistake and gave her too much epinephrine.”

 

House moves to the other side of the room to pour some coffee. “Saying you wouldn’t say it was my mistake is saying it was my mistake.”

 

He doesn’t stand down. “Everyone screws up: your rule. I think you fit inside the subset of “everyone”.”

 

House narrows his eyes, turning to face the team. “I didn’t screw up. Order a chest CT and start the sister on prednisone, 40 mg. TID.”

 

“The sister?” Chase asks incredulously.

 

“Oh, didn’t I mention? The patient’s a nun. Sister Augustine.”

 

“Aww,” He complains. “I _hate_ nuns.”

 

House tilts his head. “Who doesn’t?”

 

The ducklings walk into Sister Augustine’s room while she and Pius are watching television. More specifically, they’re watching a man and a women playing in the waves. As one of the teens calls the patient’s name, Pius hurriedly turns the TV off.  


“We weren’t watching.” The now-confirmed seventeen-year-old sister remarks quickly.

 

Pius holds up the remote sheepishly. “We were trying to see if this was the bed control.”

 

“Oh, um, this one’s the bed control and that one’s the TV control. I’m Dr. Cameron, and that’s Dr. Chase and Dr. Foreman.”

 

“I hadn’t seen television in over ten years.”

 

“Do you consider it the work of the devil, or do you just not get cable where you live?” Chase questions snidely.

 

“Um, how’re you feeling, Sister?” Foreman cuts in.

 

“I seem to be a little better; they gave me some medication.”

 

“Prednisone. It’s a steroid to help with the inflammation.”

 

“Has Dr. House figured out what I have? Will I be okay?”

 

“We’re not sure what’s wrong yet. You’ll have a chest CT scan this afternoon that will help with the diagnosis.”

 

Pius is upset. “Dr. House is giving her medication and he doesn’t know what she has yet?”

 

“Trust, Sister Pius.” Augustine calms her down. “It all happens for a reason.”

 

Back in the hallway, the ducklings have a conversation. Foreman starts, still thinking House screwed up.  


“He doesn’t know what he’s doing. The only problem that woman has is that House grabbed the wrong syringe.”

 

“You don’t trust him?” Cameron is worried.

 

“I don’t trust a man who won’t admit he might be wrong. I notice you weren’t so quick to tell her she has Churg-Strauss and only has a couple years to live.”

 

“I don’t tell patients bad news unless it’s conclusive.” She shakes her head.

 

“Because you know he might be wrong.”

 

“About Churg-Strauss, not about what happened in the clinic.”

 

“What about you, Chase? You think he’s infallible, too?”

 

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “All I know is, if House didn’t make a mistake and Sister Augustine has Churg-Strauss, he’ll be self-satisfied and our lives will be good for a few weeks. If House did make a mistake, he’ll be upset and our lives will be miserable for months.”

 

Foreman takes this into consideration and nods. “There is that.”

 

With the ducklings upstairs, House and Wilson have just walked out of the elevator and into the clinic. They’re talking about what Cuddy has dubbed as ‘the mistake’.

 

“If Cuddy thinks I made a mistake the least she could do is suspend me from clinic duty.”

 

“She doesn’t confuse making a mistake with being incompetent.”

 

“Oh, here we go. Lesson time. I recognize that confidence is not my short suit. I also recognize that I am human and capable of error.”

 

“So you might have screwed this up?” Wilson raises an eyebrow.

 

“No.”

 

“So, it’s only a theoretical capacity for error.”

 

“Good point. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe that’s my error.”

 

Wilson shakes his head. “You know, most people who think as much of themselves as you do like to talk about themselves.”  
  
”Most people don’t like to listen, so what’s wrong with you?” With that, he grabs a top file for the patient in exam room one, leaving Wilson standing alone at the main desk.

 

As he enters, he sees Santa Claus sitting on the bed, fidgeting nervously. House makes a point of sniffing the air as he comes over and lets the door close.

 

“Let me guess… inflammatory bowel.”  
  
 “Wow, yeah. Is it that bad?”

 

“Yes. It’s also written on your chart. Bloody diarrhea, gas, pain… took sulfasalazine, but it didn’t work –“

 

“No, then I –“  
  
 “Next tried steroid enemas, oral corticosteroids, 5ASAs, 6 mercaptopurine… I’m impressed.”

 

Santa is confused. “By my medical history?”

 

House clicks his tongue. “By how well your last doctor charted.”

 

“It’s one thing to have to go to the bathroom every hour, but when the kids sit on my lap, it’s…. The store sent me home, they’re gonna fire me. Can’t you put me back on 5 ASA? Maybe it’ll work this time?”

 

“Not likely. I’m giving you a prescription. It’s cheap, which is good because your insurance company won’t pay for it.”

 

He gives Santa a prescription, and he needs to put on his glasses to read it. Reading what he can make out, it leaves him with a questionable glance. “Cojorius?”

 

House shakes his head. “Cigarettes. One twice a day, no more, no less. Studies have shown that cigarette smoking is one of the most effective ways to control inflammatory bowel, plus it’s been established that you look 30% cooler.”  
  
Santa is shell-shocked. “Are you kidding me?”

 

“About the looking cooler, yeah. The rest is true.”

 

“Isn’t it addictive and dangerous?”

 

House shrugs. “Pretty much all the drugs I prescribe are addictive and dangerous. The difference with this one is that it’s completely legal.” He opens the door and steps out to leave. “Merry Christmas.”

 

Upstairs, since it was his idea, Chase is wheeling Augustine to the CT room.

 

“I was talking to the nurse, Arsenio. Do you know him?”

 

“Not really.” Chase doesn’t want to think about being here.

 

“He can take pictures with his phone.”

 

“Cool.” Chase mutters dryly.

 

“That woman from the lab was interesting, too. She studied astrophysics before becoming a nurse.” She adds excitedly.  


“You know the staff better than I do.”

 

“Well, I love to hear about people.”

 

“Yet you live in a monastery.”

 

“It’s where I serve our Lord and the world best.”

 

Chase rolls his eyes. “Our Lord, maybe. The rest of the world, on the other hand, would probably get more out of feeding the homeless or –“

 

“Healing the sick?”

 

“As an example, yeah.”

 

“Did you always want to be a doctor?”

 

“Always. You always want to be a nun?”  


“My parents died when I was six. I was raised in a foster home run by the Church. This year, I went to the monastery where they let me take my vows. I’ve known no other life and I haven’t wanted to.”

 

Chase stays silent, as they’ve reached the room. After a bit of prepping, Augustine is ready to go into the CT. Foreman is talking to her through the microphone, behind the glass.

 

“Okay, Sister, we need to you lie as still as possible. If you get scared, just let us know.”

 

“As Jonah said from inside the whale, “When I had lost all hope, I turned my thoughts to the Lord.””

 

“At least she’s got God on her side.” Foreman comments to the others.

 

Cameron looks straight ahead. “I don’t believe in God.”

 

“You’re not even a little agnostic?”  
   
From inside the CT, Augustine complains a bit. “Is it supposed to smell funny?”

 

One of the techs sitting by them turns shamefacedly. “Someone ralphed in there this afternoon. We cleaned it up, but…”

 

“It’s normal, Sister. It’s just a few more minutes.” Cameron assures the sister. She releases the microphone and turns to the boys. “I believe in a higher order that’s in control of what happens, but not one anthropomorphic entity called “God” that’s concerned with the everyday workings of you and me.”

 

“What else is there to control but the everyday workings of you and me?”

 

“It’s always about you, Foreman.”

 

“What else are you talking about? The trees, the fish? Should they be the ones to think it’s all about them? What about you, Chase? Do you believe in God?”

 

“I believe Sister Augustine has no vascular pathology, which means no Churg-Strauss.” He replies, not wanting any of them to know what school he attends.

 

“Which means House made a mistake.”  
   
”No, not necessarily.” Cameron commends. “It could be something else. Thyrotoxicosis or a carcinoid.”  


“I don’t get you. You don’t believe in God, but you’re willing to put complete faith in one man?”

 

“Please, the smell!” Augustine is now panicking inside the CT.

 

All eyes turn toward her. All three see her thrashing about. The ducklings run to the scanner, shutting it off and pulling her out. Their voices scatter, attempting to console her.  
  
 “Please, please, the smell, I’m sick –“Augustine begs.

 

“There’s no smell –“ Cameron looks at her worriedly.

 

“No, God, no –“ She suddenly puts her hands in a praying position, and gestures outward. With a gasp and a smile, she cries out. “Oh, it’s Jesus! It’s Jesus! He’s coming for me. He’s burning me with his touch!”

 

Chase rolls his eyes at Augustine’s theatrics, but the seventeen-year-old is too busy laughing and crying to notice. Foreman takes hold of Augustine’s arm as she continues, and he orders the others to help.

 

“Let’s get her on some Ativan. Smells, religious visions are symptomatic of temporal lobe swelling. We don’t want her to –“

 

“Oh!” Augustine lets out a sharp, pitched gasp before thrashing her body wildly.

 

“She’s seizing!” Cameron calls.

 

“Help me get her on her side.”

 

The three ducklings help one another as they maneuver the sister to her side, as her limbs fall loose and her eyes roll back.

 

“Religious visions?” Chase questions with distaste.

 

“Yeah. And next comes…”Foreman responds.

 

He lifts up part of her gown, and the gang sees a rash on her leg. Chase and Foreman share a look. They give her the medicine to calm her down, and help her back to the bed. Chase is assigned for wheeling he back to he room, while the other two are off to tell House.

 

“Patient tested positive for herpetic encephalitis.” Foreman announces, only coming inside to see Cuddy is also there.

 

“So what’s that tell us?”

 

“Her immune system is severely compromised.” Cameron is unbothered by the other’s presence.

 

“Ooh, I know! Prednisone compromises the immune system. Isn’t that the medicine you gave her for the thing she doesn’t have?”

 

“Yeah, but… hey. I’m think that’s a trick question.” House remarks sarcastically.

 

“Her immune system is severely compromised. Two doses of prednisone wouldn’t do that.” Cameron keeps going.

 

Cuddy raises an eyebrow. “Are you hanging your diagnosis on an adverb?”

 

“In ten seconds I’m gonna announce that I gave her the wrong dose in the clinic.”

 

“You’re gonna admit negligence?” Cuddy scoffs.  
  
”Unless you leave the room. If you stay you’ll have to testify.” Cuddy stays put, arms crossed and frowning.

 

“Five, four, three, two…. So, there I was in the clinic, drunk. I open the drawer, close my eyes, take the first syringe I can find –“ The ducklings simply smile as Cuddy leaves. “So, what are the options for compromised immune system?”

 

Smile slipping away, Chase steps up. “Mixed connective tissue disease. It’d explain why she was feeling better on the prednisone.”

 

Foreman jeers, “Sure, she was feeling better right up to the moment it almost killed her.”

 

House taps the floor with his cane in approval. “On the other hand, it explains the symptoms. Swollen hands, pulmonary problems, cardiac problems – it all fits.”

 

Again, Foreman has the need to shoot this down before it can begin. “Except her ANA was normal.”

 

“So redraw the blood.”

 

“But the treatment is corticosteroids, prednisone, and we can’t go there because of the encephalitis.”

 

“Then we’ll treat it with something that modulates the immune system but doesn’t suppress it. Hypobaric oxygen chamber.”

 

“There’s no protocol for putting a patient in a high-pressure oxygen room to treat autoimmune problems.”  


“Oh, you people. Always with the protocols.” House brushes this off, turning to the background ducklings. “Prep the nun and discontinue the prednisone.”

 

As Chase and Cameron leave, House begins to erase the whiteboard and continues to talk to Foreman. “I am both amused and annoyed that you think I should be less stubborn than you are.”

 

“You are aware of the Hippocratic Oath, right?”

 

House rolls his eyes. “The one that starts: First, do no harm, then goes on to tell us no abortions, no seductions, and definitely no cutting of those who labor beneath the stone. Yeah, took a read once, wasn’t impressed.”

 

“Hypobaric treatments could cause oxygen toxicity, lung and eye damage –“

 

House cuts him off. “Every treatment has its dangers –“

 

In turn, Foreman cuts _him_ off. “Which is why we treat when we’re only convinced the patient needs the treatment.”

 

“I’m convinced. You’re not.” House huffs exasperatedly. “Question is, what are you going to do about it? Hmm?”

 

While Cuddy is trying to schedule an appointment of sorts, Foreman walks into the office. His body language practically screams _House_. She hangs up her phone and immediately sets aside some time to talk about it. Meanwhile, Chase and Cameron are putting Augustine into the hypobaric chamber.

 

 “The pressure will force the oxygen into your system and saturate your blood. It will enhance white cell activity and reduce the inflammation.” Chase explains absentmindedly.

 

“And that will help with this mixed connective tissue disease?”

 

“We’ll be doing about ten treatments and then we’ll reevaluate.”

 

“The last treatment with prednisone caused the seizures, right? How confident is Dr. House about this?”

 

“That you reacted so strongly to the prednisone let us know that you had an underlying problem with your immune system.” Cameron smiles gently.

 

“I guess it was a blessing… of sorts.”  
 

Meanwhile, in the hospital chapel, House is leaning across a pew. He’s watching his medical drama on his portable television. The volume isn’t loud, but even the smallest sound echoes.

 

“So, what’s your favorite reindeer, Nurse Willow?” The doctor on-screen asks.

 

“Rudolph.”

 

“I would have thought it was Vixen.”

 

“What are you implying, Doctor Houston?” She squirms uncomfortably.

 

“Nothing, but I saw you at the Christmas party with Dr. Jules. And the two of you”

 

House turns the volume down when he hears someone coming toward him. He switches the television off as a whole, and then looks into the reflection of the screen. Sister Eucharist makes the sign of the cross, and then moves to sit beside House.  


“This is a chapel. A house of prayer.” She whispers.

 

“House of prayer, huh. That explains the good reception. Also why nobody’s ever here.”

 

“I need to talk with you, Dr. House. Sister Augustine believes in things that aren’t real.”

 

House rolls his eyes with a huff. “I thought that was a job requirement for you people.”

 

“She’s been known to lie to get sympathy. She’s a hypochondriac.”

 

He finally sets the television down and looks over to her. “So, you’re warning me that I may be treating a non-existent ailment.”

 

She nods. “Sore throats, joint pains… there’s always something wrong, and there’s never a reason for it. Mother Superior plays right into it. Lets Augustine off work duties, treating her as fragile, special.”

 

As she speaks, House takes out a chocolate bar from his inside pocket. He snaps off a piece to eat. “That must make you angry.”

 

She winces at the turn of phrase, unintentionally staring at the chocolate. “It bothers me. It’s not really in Augustine’s best interests.”  


“Want some?” House holds the bar out to her, genuinely offering her a piece.

 

“I shouldn’t.” She answers with a mischievous smile as she gladly takes the offering.  
  
” I guess you’ve got to be good at reading people to be a good infirmarian, huh.”

 

Eucharist has a mouthful of chocolate. “Mm-hmm.”  


“So, we’ve got pride, anger, envy, gluttony…. That’s four out of seven deadly sins in two minutes. Do you people keep records of these things? Is there a Cathlympics?”

 

She swallows. “They say you have a gift.”

 

“They like to talk.” The teen raises an eyebrow.

 

“You hide behind your intelligence.”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty stupid.”

 

“And you make jokes because you’re afraid to take anything seriously. Because if you take things seriously, they matter, and if they matter –“ She presses.

 

“And when things go wrong, I get hurt. I’m not tough, I’m vulnerable.” House snaps a little harsher than intended.

 

Eucharist doesn’t seem surprised. “I barely know you, and I don’t know if I’m right. I just hope I am. Because the alternative is, you really are as miserable as you seem to be.”

 

Darting back to sarcasm, House ends the conversation. “You know, from the way you’re looking at me right now, I’d say you just hit number five: lust.”

 

Wordlessly, Eucharist hands House back the candy bar and leaves the chapel. House picks his television back up and re-situates himself as he turns his drama back on; volume up.

 

“Dr. Houston, I love you, too.” Nurse Willow smiles, leaning into the kiss.

 

The medical drama continues, but the conversation zones out of House’s mindset. Chase and Cameron open the hypobaric chamber now that the test is complete.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Chase asks robotically.

 

“A little weak.” She admits.

 

“That’s from the oxygen.”

 

“My mouth is dry.”

 

“Okay. Well, I’ll get you some of your tea.”

 

Down the hallway, House and Cuddy are walking and talking. Really, Cuddy’s voice is just a pitch shorter than screaming at the slightly older teen.

 

“Mixed connective tissue disease? Her ANA is barely elevated!”

 

“Well, thanks for checking up on her. Good to know you’ve got my back.”

 

“0-2 stat is down to 83, pulmonary problems, breathing problems –“

 

“Irritation from the oxygen is typical.”

 

“She comes in with a rash and you put her into cardiac arrest.”

 

“That well just never runs dry, does it? If there was no underlying problem, then why is she still having the rapid heart rate?” House’s voice dangerously begins to rise.

 

“Maybe from the herpetic encephalitis caused by you giving her prednisone!”

 

“Her reaction is a symptom, not an error.”

 

“There’s always an explanation, isn’t there?”

 

“Yes, there is! And if this one doesn’t work will find another.” He snaps, leering at her.

 

“But never one involving you screwing up.”

 

“One that fits all the facts. Look, we obviously have a difference of opinion, and that’s fine, but unfortunately I’ve used up all the time I’ve budgeted today for banging my head against a wall.”

 

“I am going to do you the biggest favor one doctor can do for another. I am going to stop you from killing your patient.” She dashes ahead of him, cutting off his step. “You’re off the case.”

 

Cuddy turns on her heel, leaving House just outside his office. He goes inside, seeing only one duckling. Foreman. The two share a glance, and then House’s simple glance takes on a whole evil look. He pages the other two to join Foreman in Cuddy’s office to discuss the case. If Cuddy doesn’t want him on the case, it makes things a lot more interesting for House.

 

“We’re going to treat the symptoms.” Cuddy announces.

 

“Not the underlying condition?” Cameron tilts her head.

 

“There is no underlying condition. What’s her status?”

 

Chase doesn’t want to feel the wrath of the girlier House. “The sister’s breathing is labored.”

 

“Pneumonitis from the hypobaric chamber. Put her on 40% oxygen until her 0-2 stats increase.”

 

“BUN and creatinine’s rising, ALT and AST twice the normal range.”

 

“Could be from the hypertensive episode. Let’s follow them with labs.”

 

“She still has the rash and the joint pain she came in with.” Foreman reminds them.

 

“Order a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory.”

 

Cameron tenses. “When we were looking at the differential diagnosis with Dr. House, we were considering –“

 

“I don’t need to hear what Dr. House was considering! All of this girl’s symptoms can be traced to Dr. House’s considerations. Okay. Let’s just get this patient healthy. I want her going out the front door, and not the back.”  
  
The ducklings leave the clinic, with Chase and Cameron riding Foreman’s back. The taller teen groans from exhaustion, wanting desperately to put this behind him and just focus on the case.

 

“Hey, it’s not like I betrayed him. Cuddy would have found out about the hypobaric treatments eventually.”  


Cameron nods heatedly. “You did what you felt you had to.”

 

Once the ducklings have left, House moves away from his hiding spot. He moves through the clinic, and immediately begins looking through the door with the epinephrine syringes. Wilson’s voice from behind startles him, but House maintains balance.

 

“Can’t get enough of this place, huh?”  
  
”Came for my stethoscope.” He rattles off an excuse.  
 

“So, I shouldn’t read too much into the fact that you were looking for it in the drawer with the epinephrine syringes in it?”

 

“Okay, yeah. I’d like to clear my reputation.”

 

“Oh, right. I forgot that you care about what people think. Prescribing cigarettes for inflammatory bowel? It could cause lung cancer, you know.”

 

House pointedly ignores his best friend’s jibe, and leaves the exam room. “You know why they have ribbons for breast cancer, colorectal cancer, prostate cancer and not for lung cancer?”

 

“They ran out of colors?” Wilson tries disbelievingly.

 

“It’s because people blame lung cancer patients. They smoked, they screwed up, and they deserve to die. The reason people die from lung cancer is guilt.”

 

He enters Cuddy’s empty office, and Wilson follows in suit – the latter carefully closing the door. House moves over to where the records are kept and Wilson lets out a low breath, decisively not saying anything about House’s current actions.

 

“Huh. Well, guilt does a lot of damage.” He remarks instead, referring to the lung cancer comment.

 

“You said that with great significance.”

 

Wilson sighs again, this time getting a little more personal. “You’re not here to find your stethoscope. You’re not here to clear your reputation. You’re here because you’re having doubts. You might have screwed up.”

 

“I’m here because, if I’m right, Cuddy is killing that patient.”

 

Wilson nods. “Okay, but if you’re wrong?”

 

Had anyone else asked, House would have a seething retort or a promise of pain at the ready. Since it’s _Wilson_ , House can admit a select few things. “Then she’s saving her.”

 

Wilson isn’t too shocked at the half-confession. “Fine. You’re going to have to go through every record of every patient who’s been through this clinic in the last two days, and you’re gonna have to hope that those records can be trusted, which, by the way, yours can’t.”

 

Wilson leaves the office, and House slumps onto the available couch to ponder what he can do. Meanwhile, Chase has been assigned to help Augustine. She’s in bed and he hands her a small clear cup with her pills.  


“These pills will help your kidneys function a little better, Sister. Get your wrist?”

 

He quickly takes her pulse and sighs, making a note in her charts.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“104.”

 

“Is that good?”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“You’re a lousy liar, Dr. Chase.”

 

Before either of them can say anything else, Chase’s beeper goes off. On it is the message “Call Mom!” His face flushes as he rolls his eyes.

 

“I have to get this. Excuse me.”

 

Chase marches into House’s office. The older teen is sitting on the edge of his desk, playing with a yo-yo. His cane is hooked to the side of the desk.

 

“My mother’s been dead for ten years.” He pouts.

 

“But she’s always with you in spirit. What do you know about the nun?”

 

“Which one?”

 

“The cute one. I think she likes me.” House groans. “The sick one, obviously.”  


Chase shrugs. “Her parents died when she was a child and she’s been with the Church ever since.”

 

“What’s she lying about?”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“I always say that. And the old nun says the sick nun is a big fat nun liar. You know nuns, what do you think?”

 

His face flushes a light pink. “I don’t know nuns.”

 

“You hate nuns. You can’t hate someone if you don’t know them.”

 

Chase decides to use House’s deflection technique. “Know any Nazis? Maybe I hate them on principle.”

 

It doesn’t quite work. “I have a theory on what makes good boys “good”. It’s not because of some moral imperative. Good boys have the fear of God put into them. Catholic Church specializes in that kind of training, to make good boys afraid of divine retribution so they will do what their daddies tell them, like, for example, going into medical school when it’s the last thing they want to do. What do you think?”

 

“I think if she did have a secret, her boss would know.”

 

Awkwardly, Chase leaves the office. House has an idea and clocks out early. He climbs into his car and drives out to the monastery. After explaining who he is and what he’s come for, a few sisters lead him to Mother Superior.  
  
”You are only a boy.” She exclaims with a warming smile. “And you work the medical knowledge to help our sisters and brothers along the way. What can I do for you, son?”

 

Biting back any scathing remarks, House allows a small smile of his own. He remembers how church was like closing around Christmastime when he was younger. _Seven-year-old Greg House sat up front as he was given a petite chest of myrrh. He was dressed as a Wise Man, humming ‘Amazing Grace’ under his breath. A few pews back, he could see the joy in his mom’s eyes. Greg was a bit of a troublemaker, but he always wanted to make his mom happy. Especially when his dad didn’t._

 

“Did you paint, or put in new carpets recently, Ma’am?”  


“No.”

 

“Any way she could have got access to, forgive me for being so blunt, drugs?”

 

“Well, we lock all of our medications in the infirmary, and we don’t keep prescription drugs here.” She explains as she begins to make a new batch of tea. “Forgive my bluntness young man, but why haven’t you asked Sister Augustine about these things directly?”  


“I’ve found that when you want to know the truth about someone that someone is probably the last person you should ask.”

 

“Ah. And have you been speaking to Sister Eucharist” Mother Superior watches him with a knowing smile.

 

“She ratted out her fellow sister pretty quickly. If I were you I’d have her repeat a year of nun school.”

 

Mother Superior laughs at the comment. House blushes a little, but he makes no attempt to better the statement. “Becoming a nun doesn’t make you a saint.”

 

Without meaning to, House opens his mouth again. “Becoming a doctor doesn’t make you a healer.”

 

“Just because we live in a monastery and we spend most of our time in prayer doesn’t mean we don’t find time for drama.” She purses her lips.

 

“So, what is the sick one’s drama?” House asks, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave.

 

“Sister Augustine lived in Catholic foster care until she came to us.” The kettle whistles. “Tea?”

 

“Sure.” House responds while his mind screams _no_. “Do all of you lie?”

 

He cringes at the bluntness of the question, but Mother Superior doesn’t look at all bothered. He takes it as a good sign and explains his questioning further.

 

“It’s a good strategy, simpler when you all tell the same lie, but she has not spent her entire life as a good Catholic. When she had a cardiac arrest I had to open her blouse to do CPR and I learned two things: nuns can have nice breasts, and she has a tattoo on her shoulder of a skunk. Now, maybe it’s the Sacred Skunk of Joseph, but as far as I know, Catholic foster care and monasteries do not keep tattoo parlors in their refractories.”

 

House flushes again, this time realizing how he’d been rambling. He covers his mouth with the offered teacup and takes a few long sips. The nun chuckles a bit, setting down her tea.

 

“We consider that our life begins when we put on our habits and take our vows. What happens before then –“

 

“Is irrelevant to you, but it’s relevant to me.” He almost pleads.

 

Mother Superior sighs deeply but she nods. “Sister Augustine went into foster care when she was six years old, but she left when she was twelve. She lived on the streets; she got into drugs. When she was thirteen, she became pregnant, tried to self-abort. She lost the child, she became ill. We took her in when she came back. If we had thought it was medically relevant we would have told you.”  


House only nods. He takes another sip before handing the teacup back to the older woman. “Thank you. This tea is delicious.”

 

She nods as well. “Local herbs. My prayers are with Sister Augustine.” She glances him over. “And you, as well.”  
   
House decides best not to comment on the last sentence. Instead, he heads back to his car. While he’d been visiting with Mother Superior, the team has been busy in the hospital. Cuddy has just gathered the ducklings in the hallway for updates as they walk; House is just pulling into his reserved parking place. They’re currently walking from Sister Augustine’s room to her (Cuddy’s) office.

 

“Any change with medication?”

 

Chase lets out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, she’s getting worse. Lung function’s deteriorating, BUN and creatinine are continuing to rise. She’s starting to run a fever and the rash is spreading. At this rate she’s not going to make Christmas.”

 

Cameron flinches. “Maybe House was right. Maybe there is an underlying condition that explains the symptoms, something we haven’t considered.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“It could be a metabolic disorder.”

 

“Specifically?”

 

“Monogenetic.”

 

“Specifically?”  
 

“I’m just saying –“

 

“You’re just saying you think House is right.” Cuddy huffs.

 

“Might be right.”

 

“Of course he might be right!” Cuddy almost shouts, coming to a halt right outside her door. The ducklings crash into each other. “It might be the Hand of God at work. Don’t say it’s something else unless you’ve got something concrete to offer.”

 

A teabag is suddenly thrown onto Cuddy’s paperwork that sits in her hands. Chase and Cameron flinch from the sudden contact. Cuddy just picks it up and stares at the entering House. “What’s this, hemlock?”

 

““I’m going to do you the biggest favor one doctor can do another. I’m gonna stop you from killing your patient.” It’s figwort tea. Great for that little pick-me-up we’re all looking for in the morning. Opens the lungs, increases the blood pressure, and stimulates the heart. Unfortunately, if you then get injected with even 0.1 cc of epinephrine: instant cardiac arrest. Still, what the hell, it tastes great.”

 

Cuddy gapes at this new information. “Sister Augustine –“

 

House nods. “Has been drinking it religiously, so to speak.”

 

“Take the cardiac arrest out of the equation…” Foreman catches son.

 

“All the rest of the symptoms can be explained by a severe long-term allergic reaction.”

 

“That’s what Cameron said in the beginning.”

 

Feeling a bit of gratitude from visiting the monastery, House nods to the youngest of their group. “Yes, she did. Well done.”

 

She grins in appreciation, but it doesn’t last long. House breaks the strange silence by registering them back to the case.

 

“Okay, let’s go figure out how to save a nun.”  
  
House leads the ducklings away from Cuddy’s office, and toward his own. Cuddy disappears into her office, signaling her leaving the case and House regaining control.

 

“Because it’s been untreated for so long, it’s gone from a simple watery eyes, scratchy throat allergy to a whopping I’m-gonna-kick-your-ass allergy, compromising her immune system, diminishing her ability to heal and breaking down her organs systems. So, what’s the source?”

 

“The dish soap.” Chase says.

 

“No, symptoms persisted days after the dishwashing episode. It’s gotta be something she’s been exposed to here in the hospital as well as the monastery.”

 

“Well, what about the tea? It caused her arrhythmia.” Foreman raises the possibility

 

“Could be, but it’s not definitive.”

 

Chase wants to be back in the good graces of the older doctor. “We’ll skin test for allergens.”

 

Cameron shakes her head. “Not yet, she’s too reactive. She’d test positive for everything. We need to stabilize her, isolate her from all possible allergens. Give her system a rest.”

 

“Get her in a clean room.” Chase adds in.

 

“Okay. And we’ll gradually introduce allergens and see how she responds. When she reacts to something we’ll know that’s what killing her.”

 

A little over an hour later, the ducklings are helping Augustine adjust to the clean room. The teenagers are in air-pressured scrubs, gloves and nets. Foreman pulls up the bed barrier rail.

 

“There you go. No television, no books.”

 

“Not even my Bible?” Augustine questions.

 

“I’m afraid not. This room has filtered air, filtered water… you even have silk sheets. Very decadent and hypoallergenic. You should be feeling better here.”

 

She smiles assuredly. Foreman and Cameron leave, as Chase makes sure her vitals are going on swiftly. He’s feeling a little uncomfortable alone with her, due to the last solo conversation they had earlier in the hall.

 

“We’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”  


“Can the other sisters come in and pray with me?”

  
”It’d be better if you don’t have any visitors. Once we isolate what’s causing your allergy, then we can be a little more lax.” Augustine turns away from the window and starts to cry. Chase feels bad immensely. “I can pray with you.”

 

“I want to die. Why has He left me?”

 

“I go to Spencer High School.”

 

In a soft voice, Augustine gently asks him, “Isn’t that a seminary school?”

 

She doesn’t turn to face him, still choosing to look out the window instead.

 

“Yes.” Chase answers with a sigh. “They asked us once what our favorite passage was. I chose 1 Peter 1:7. “These trials only test your faith to see whether or not it is strong and pure. Your faith is being tested as fire tests gold and purifies it.””

 

““And your faith is far more precious to the Lord than pure gold; so if your faith remains strong after being tested, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day of His return.”” Augustine finishes the passage.

 

“He hasn’t left you. The only thing in the way of your knowing if he’s left you is your fear. You have a choice: faith or fear. That’s the test.”

 

“Do you think faith doesn’t mean I won’t die?”

 

“It will affect how you experience your death, and therefore your life. It’s up to you.”

 

While Chase and Augustine begin to pray, Cameron and Foreman are talking with Pius and Eucharist on the other side of the window.

 

“We’ll call you if anything changes.” Cameron promises the two older women.

 

“Will she be all right?” Eucharist’s voice is exceedingly worried.

 

“As long as she’s not exposed to anything that will aggravate her allergy, she’ll be fine.”

 

Just as Foreman says this, Chase runs up and knocks on the window. Augustine is thrashing again, just like before with the allergic reaction.

 

“Need some help in here!” Cameron and Foreman start to suit up, but Chase is having none of it. “Screw the procedure, she’s in anaphylactic shock!”

 

“No way, she’s in the damn clean room.” Foreman calls back, still getting dressed.

 

“You kidding me? Get in here!” Finally, Cameron and Foreman run in. “0.1 cc of epi.”

 

“Gonna have to intubate.” Foreman states after looking over her reaction.

 

“I got it.” Cameron calls out as she inserts a breathing tube. “I’m in.” They start to pump air. “Breathing’s stabilized.”  
  
”It’s a clean room!” Chase is worn out.  


The ducklings leave in separate directions after informing House. Sister Augustine has been put on a transferable watch. Two doctors at a time are scheduled to look after her, through the window. The ducklings check out at six, to go and spend the holiday with their families. When they check out, House has Wilson help carry his case files into the latter’s office. House folds onto Wilson’s couch, intending to work through the files. Wilson, already done with his, picks up one of House’s and gets to work. The hours drift by, and someone knocks on the door at a quarter till midnight. It’s Nurse Abigail and Dr. Peevey. Their watch shift has just ended, and now it’s up to House and Wilson.

 

For the first time in hours, House speaks up. “How do you get an allergic reaction in a clean room?”

 

“Maybe it was the preservatives in the IV?”

 

“Checked that.”

 

“Latex tubing?” Wilson stifles a yawn.

 

“Checked that.” House sighs, running a hand over his face. “Checked everything.”  


“Well, it could be mast-cell leukemia. It can cause anaphylaxis.”

 

“Checked the blood levels. And it’s not eosinophilia or idiopathic anaphylaxis.”

 

“Maybe it’s just divine will.”

 

“It’s not my will.” He grumbles as he takes a couple of Vicodin.

 

Wilson wisely says nothing about it, moving on with the conversation at hand. “You do realize if you’re wrong, about the big picture that is, you’re going to burn, right?”

 

“What do you want me to do? Accept it, pack it in?”

 

“Yeah. I want you to accept that sometimes patients die against all reason. Sometimes they get better against all reason.”

 

“No, they don’t. We just don’t know the reason.”

 

“I don’t think the nuns would agree with you on that.”

 

House snorts a little, allowing a small smile to graze his lips. The two friends lean against the wall and watch in contented silence. After twenty minutes, Wilson silently moves but returns carrying a small bench for the two of them to rest. Both boys nearly fall asleep, but they have each other to nudge or pull, to keep awake. They remain like this for the other hour and a half. The delivery doctors walk over tiredly, to relieve the boys. Wilson retreats to his office, with House calling after that he’ll go back after awhile. House is pacing in his office, to get blood circulation flowing, just forty-five minutes later. Cameron shocks him by entering the office.

 

“I just wanted to say that I know that you did everything you could.”

 

He wants to know why she’s not home with the family, it being two-thirty Christmas morning. Instead of asking her anything, he snaps at her. He doesn’t mean for it to come out harsh, but he’s tired and fed up with the case. It’s bringing him back to bad places.

 

“I don’t need verification from you to know that I’m doing my job well. That’s your problem, not mine.”

 

“I was just being nice.” She sighs.

 

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to always do that.” He scowls.

 

Nevertheless, she pops up in front of him, brandishing a shiny wrapped package.

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

He takes it in shock. Before he can ask any questions or begin to unwrap, though, Chase walks in. House quirks an eyebrow as to why as well Chase is still here. Rather than bringing a gift, he comes bearing information.

 

“Sister Augustine’s been extubated.”

 

“Good.” House nods, no longer wondering why the two ducklings are still here.

 

“She’s requested to check out against medical advice. She wants to go back to the monastery.”

 

“Well, talk her out of it.”

 

Chase awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “I think I may have talked her into it.”  


House groans in disbelief. He places his present on the desk and gimps through the doors past his younger co-workers. He hurries down the hall and into the clean room.

 

“Room’s paid up for the rest of the week. You might as well stick around.”

 

“This illness is a test of my faith. If it’s His will to take me, it doesn’t matter where I am. I can accept that.”

 

“Does anybody believe anything you say? You’re not accepting. You’re running away. Just like you always do.” _Like I did,_ His thoughts break into his lecture. _You ran off and left Mom to deal with that bastard three years ago. We’re lucky Mom let us back._ “You ran away from the monastery, you get laid, you ran away from the real world when getting laid didn’t work out so well.” _Does dating Stacey ring any bells? It should. You drove her off._ “Now things aren’t working out again, so off you go.”  
  
”Why is it so difficult for you to believe in God?” Augustine asks, misunderstanding House’s misplaced anger.

 

“What I have difficulty with is the whole concept of belief. Faith isn’t based on logic and experience.” He answers anyway.

 

“I experience God on a daily basis, and the miracle of life all around. The miracle of birth, the miracle of love. He is always with me.”

 

“Where is the miracle in delivering a crack-addicted baby? Hmmm? And watching her mother abandon her because she needs another score. The miracle of love. You’re twice as likely to be killed by the person you love than by a stranger.”

 

“Are you trying to talk me out of my faith?” She sounds appalled.

 

“You can have all the faith you want in spirits and the afterlife, and heaven and hell, but when it comes to this world, don’t be an idiot. ‘Cause you can tell me you put your faith in God to put you through the day, but when it comes time to cross the road, I know you look both ways.”

 

“I don’t believe He is inside me and is going to save me. I believe He is inside me whether I live or die.”  


“Then you might as well live. You’ve got a better shot betting on me than on Him.”

 

“When I was thirteen, I was on every kind of birth control known to man, and I still got pregnant. I blamed God. I hated Him for ruining my life, but then I realized something. You can’t be angry with God and not believe in him at the same time. No one can. Not even you, Dr. House.”

 

The slightly younger Godly girl irks House to no end. House retreats to his office to calm himself. When he is finally feeling better, he walks out to the balcony and climbs over the divide so he can join his best friend in his office. As suspected, Wilson is busy with House’s files. The latter drops to the couch and picks up a file.

 

“How’d it go?” Wilson is almost afraid to ask.

 

“She has God inside her. It would have been easier to deal with a tumor.”

 

“Maybe she’s allergic to God.”

 

The boys work on House’s files in the same contented silence as before. Eventually, around five o’clock, the boys are completely worn out and they fall asleep. Wilson is at his desk, and House is on the couch. They wake up a little past eight – with two doctors from the pediatrics ward informing Wilson that he’s up with Cuddy to watch over Augustine. House wakes and makes some coffee before herding his ducklings from the differential room.

 

“We looked everywhere for an allergen that could be causing this reaction except one place: inside her.”

 

“On her medical history she didn’t mention any surgery.” Foreman frowns, choosing not to say anything about House wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

 

“She had one.”

 

Cameron tilts her head. “Can we get her records? What hospital was it at?”

 

“She didn’t have it at a hospital. Order a full body scan.”

 

“What if she refuses?” Chase knows there’s a good chance she will.

 

“Tell her I’m looking for a miracle.”

 

Soon, the ducklings have Sister Augustine in the imaging center. She’s waiting on the results with her sisters, while the three hardly-slept teens are staring at the screenshots for some sort of answer. They’re having trouble.

 

“No piercings, no fillings, no surgical pins in the arm, no implants…”Foreman sighs.

  
”It’s clean as a whistle.” Chase agrees. “What’s House looking for?”

 

Foreman shakes his head, but then squints he at the screen.

 

“What is that?”  
  
Chase squints as well. “Don’t know.”

 

“Lock on it. Get a 3D representation.”

 

Chase does so, and the image shows a piece of metal in the form of a cross. Their eyes widen at the outcome. Cameron is the first to come out with ‘oh, my God’. They take down the imaging rep and bring it in to show House. He shakes his head in absolute disbelief.

 

“The copper cross, a form of birth control pulled off the market years ago. Someone who didn’t know about the current trends must have given it to her.”  
  
”So, she’s allergic to copper.” Foreman understands, but it’s weird.  
   
”Rare, but it happens.”

 

“Wouldn’t she know she had an IUD?” Chase can’t help but ask.

 

“She had an abortion. IUD must have been left in, embedded in the eudiometrical tissue where it couldn’t be detected.”  
  
Chase pieces the rest of it together. “So, all we have to do is remove the IUD and the symptoms should subside.”

 

He gets the green light from House, and runs off to explain it to Sister Augustine.  


“I got this IUD when I was thirteen. It’s been four, nearly five years.”  


“Prolonged exposure to an allergen with minimal symptoms. But at some point, all it takes is one last contact to cause a full-blown reaction. It’s like a balloon filled with air. One last breath, it explodes.”

 

“The first time I got the rash was when I was washing the copper cookware.”  
 

“And all your subsequent symptoms came from ingesting food prepared in it.”

 

She smiles softly. “Dr. House found his miracle.”

 

Chase chuckles. “I doubt he’ll interpret it that way.”  
  
Augustine smiles. “You told me your favorite passage. Would you like to hear mine?” At Chase’s nod, she continues. ““Celebrate and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again.””  


“The prodigal son.”

  
Chase merely smiles. “We’ll schedule your surgery for tomorrow.”  


With the surgery scheduled, the ducklings go home _for real_. It’s a little past ten Christmas morning. House had gotten a missed call from his dad, warning him not to come visit until _after_ the New Year. Secretly, he’d rather spend the holidays with someone who won’t ask unless needed, and asks in a way not expecting direct answers. He likes spending time with his best friend Wilson, though he never really admits it. House and Wilson are at the clinic desk once more. They’re finishing the last of House’s case files, with a coffee mug at the ready.  


“The sixth circle of Hell.” Wilson sighs as he finishes his last folder.

 

“Confined in a sweat box with a bloody nose and all the tissues are soggy.”

 

“I think that’s the seventh.”

 

House smirks. “Nope, seventh is –“

 

Wilson cuts him off with a smile of his own. “God, we must be fun at parties.”

 

“I think we both know the flaw in that theory.”

 

Rather than keep it up, Wilson is compelled to ask. “How’s the Sister?”

 

“Kidneys functioning, heart rate is normal. You know how it is with nuns: you take out their IUDs and they bounce right back.”

 

“Great.”  
  
 “Told you I didn’t screw up.”

 

Wilson stares back. “You screwed up.”

 

House groans audibly. “I gave her 0.1 cc of epinephrine.”

 

Wilson snorts. “Yeah, and if Cuddy hadn’t taken you off the case, you would have killed her.” He quickly changes his tune to somewhat hopeful. “You want to come over for Christmas dinner?”

 

“You’re Jewish.” House deadpans.  
   
”Yeah, Hanukkah dinner. What do you care? It’s food; it’s people.”  
  
”No thanks.”   
  
”Maybe I’ll come to your place.”  
  
”Your fiancé doesn’t mind being alone at Christmas?”  
  
”I’m a doctor, she’s used to being alone.” He almost whispers as House raises his eyebrows. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Quickly, House sputters, “Neither do I.”

 

He finishes his final paper and Cuddy enters the area.  
  
”You did well with the nun. Congratulations.”  
  
”Thank you.”  
  
”Merry Christmas, Dr. House. Dr. Wilson.”

 

She leaves without them needing to say anything in return. Everyone’s got their own things to do for the holidays. Cuddy, House, Wilson, Foreman, Chase and Cameron are off work until January second.  
  
”Good night. That was sweet.”

 

Around noon, snow begins to fall in Princeton. Around three o’clock, Foreman is dressed up as Santa. He’s passing out gifts to the sick kids at the hospital Christmas party. Cuddy is spending time with her family. Around five o’clock, Cameron is playing out in the snow without a care in the world. Around six o’clock, Chase is sitting in a back pew of the hospital Chapel service. The sisters and Mother Superior are up front.

 

Around seven o’clock, House and Wilson are sitting on the couch at House’s apartment. Wilson has no intention of going home anytime soon. The boys are eating Chinese delivery and drinking lite beer that House managed to get with his fake ID. By nine o’clock, Wilson is falling asleep on the couch as House gently plays his piano in the soothing tune of ‘Silent Night’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a review from ‘tnt’ – and I’ve gotta say thank you! Because of you, I’ve uploaded now instead of wondering what to do…  
> Gotta say, I love House & Wilson. Cuddy’s fine in the earlier seasons, but by season 3 or 4 she just irritates me to no end. When I get that far in writing, things will already be off-kilter from the original episodes. Warning in advance: homosexual relationships, bisexual relationships and Cuddy is a bitch.


	6. The Socratic Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mother, apparently suffering from thrombosis, alcoholism and schizophrenia, has only her 11-year-old son as caregiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, my beauties! I have returned with 1.06 – The Socratic Method. I will be busy again after the week is over, so I thought I'd add a little extra chapter. I thought I might help things out by saying it’s a new year (for House and his peoples, anyway)! They are back at work, and it is sometime in early [meaning sometime before it hits the teen days] January. Ages from the last chapter remain the same.

In the ER waiting room, an eleven-year-old boy named Luke is pacing. The PA sparks to life, with ‘Dr. Gregory House, please call Dr. Cuddy at extension 3731.’ House, also in the waiting room, is sitting in a comfortable chair. His legs are propped up on the available table, and his cane is resting on the arm of the chair. He puts down his newspaper to frown up at the PA from his seat, though. Before he can return to his paper, Luke turns to him.

 

“This is a good hospital?”

 

House merely shrugs. “Depends what you mean by “good.” I like these chairs.”

 

He returns his attention to his paper. An emergency room doctor walks out, and Luke meets up with him. He’s obviously nervous beyond measure.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Stable. OK. Your mom had a small pulmonary embolism; blood clot that got stuck in her lungs, blocked the oxygen.”

 

Luke takes out a small notebook that had been tucked in his back pants pocket, and a pen from behind his ear. He flips through it, marking a certain day. “But the pain started in her leg.”  


The doctor nods. “Where the clot started. Her calf. It’s called a deep vein thrombosis. Basically a bigger clot.”

 

Luke shakes his head, but hastily writes down the new information. “It never hurt there before. I would have noticed.”

 

“Piece of that broke off, went up the vein, through the heart, blocked the blood flow to her lungs. No blood flow, no oxygen.”

 

“Okay…” He acknowledges as he continues to scribble.

 

“Is your dad here? I have some things I need to talk to him about.”

 

“Uh, my dad’s running a little late.” He apuses with the doctor staring intently, and he folds. “He’s dead. Just talk to me – I take care of her.”

 

“All right. Your mom’s blood alcohol was .12. Ten thirty in the morning.”

 

“I gave it to her.” Luke admits. “Two ounces of vodka. It cools her out. But that’s the first since Monday. That was three days ago. I’ve been real careful.” The doctor looks at him; Luke sighs in defeat. “She hears voices.”  


“She’s schizophrenic? Explains the DVT. The alcohol makes her pass out, she’s immobile for long periods of time…”

 

“That doesn’t happen. She’s not an alcoholic.” Luke corrects him.

 

“She only drinks when you give it to her.” The doctor nods. “We put her on blood thinners. You can probably take her home tomorrow.”

 

“It’s not the alcohol, it’s gotta be something else.” Luke frowns.

 

House rattles his paper, folding it down. “ _Of course_ it’s the alcohol.” Both of them turn to look at House. Luke is confused, but the doctor is annoyed. “Hello!”

 

House gets up, grabs his cane and walks over to them. “This guy’s a professional doctor. Plays golf and everything, I bet. He’s not gonna tell you your mom’s an alcoholic without proof. I’m sure he scoped for varices , checked her esophagus, ran all kinds of blood tests. Doctors like this, they don’t make assumptions, they do the work!”

 

“I’d be happy to refer you the case, Dr. House. You seem so interested.”

 

“What case? It’s over. You’re sending her home.” He retorts sarcastically. He then turns to Luke. “How old is she?”

 

Still trying to wrap his head around the flurry of events, Luke gapes at the teen doctor in a _Pink Floyd_ T-shirt and jeans. “You’re a doctor?”

 

House nods. “Own my own stethoscope. Did I ask you how old she was? I forget.”  


Upon the case transferal, House receives all notes meticulously kept by the overworked preteen. They have the woman in her own room, and Luke is right alongside her. House is at the whiteboard, sporadically etching all the notes together. The ducklings are sitting around the table, attempting to make sense of the variety of information.  
  
”Thirty eight year old woman with no previous symptoms or history presents with deep vein thrombosis -- how did she get it?” House finally speaks.

 

“Oral contraceptives, smoking, diabetes, obesity, and what’s the point here? A DVT’s a DVT. Put her on IV heparin to prevent future clots.” Foreman shrugs. “What’s the big mystery?”

 

House groans. “Fine. You’re all sleeping. You need a clue.” He circles “38yo” on whiteboard. “She’s 38 years old! She’s 20 years too young to get a deep vein thrombosis!”

 

Foreman shrugs again. “I treated an eight-year-old girl once, soccer player, she got kicked in the leg…”

 

“There was no trauma, none of the risk factors.”  
  
Cameron balks at him. “You took a history?”

 

House bites his lip. “I… have some notes. They’re not mine, but they’re reliable, I think, for purposes of this discussion. As for the immobility, well, she’s real active right now, of course – paranoia keeps her limber.”

 

“Paranoia?” Foreman holds out his hands.

 

“Oh yeah – she’s schizophrenic. And her kid wrote this,” He pauses to hold up the hefty notebook. “So it might be a little biased. Having to take care of his nutso mom and all. You think there’s a connection? Do we include schizophrenia in the differential for DVT?”  
  
”Well…” Foreman is hesitant.

 

“The answer is no. Abnormal dopaminergic pathways in the brain do not cause blood clots. Schizophrenia is not the cause of DVT.”

 

The ducklings go off on their own for awhile. House goes off to find Wilson so he can bounce through ideas. This continues as they enter the Cuyler Wing.

 

“On the other hand, we don’t really know anything about schizophrenia. So maybe it is connected.”

 

“Well, the schizophrenia explains one mystery – why you’re so fascinated by a woman with a bump in her leg. Like Picasso deciding to whitewash a fence.”

 

“Thanks. I’m more of a Leroy Neiman man. And it is only about the DVT. She’s 38 years old, she should be…”

 

“Right. Solve this one and you’re on your way to Stockholm.” Wilson smirks.

 

They reach the nurse’s station, where Wilson fiddles with paperwork. House taps his cane on the floor in frustration. He wants Wilson to take this seriously.

 

“We don’t even know how to treat it! Come on! Fumigation of the vagina?”

 

At the last suggestion, Wilson’s eyes dart back and forth. “A little louder -- I don’t think everyone heard you.” He starts walking down the hall, and House trails him.

 

“Two thousand years ago, that’s how Galen treated schizophrenics – the Marcus Welby of ancient Greece.”  


“Oh! Clearly you’re not interested.”

 

“I’m interested.” House protests. “I’m interested in how voices in the head could be caused by malposition of the uterus.”  


“There’s a better place for it?”

 

Ignoring him, House keeps going. “And now what have we got? We’ve got lobotomies, rubber rooms, electric shock… my, Galen was so primitive.”  
 

Wilson stops walking at House’s office, believing it to be their destination. He looks over in confusion as House continues down the hall.  


“Where are you going?”

 

Without looking back, he answers. “Going to see the patient. That all-important human connection. Thought I’d give it a whirl.”  


“You won’t talk to patients because they lie, but give you a patient with no concept of reality…” Wilson keeps the conversation going as he speeds a bit to catch up.

 

“If it wasn’t for Socrates, that raving untreated schizophrenic, we wouldn’t have the Socratic method – the best way of teaching everything, apart from juggling chainsaws. Without Isaac Newton, we’d be floating on the ceiling.”

 

Wilson raises an eyebrow, finding no way to argue. “Dodging chainsaws, no doubt.”

 

House nods. “And that guitar player in that English band – he was great.” He stops just outside of Lucy’s – his patient’s – room. “You think I’m interested because of the schizophrenia.”

 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure.”

 

“Galen was pretty sure about the fumigation thing.” House opens the door and slides it closed. “Pink Floyd.”  
  
He moves farther into Lucy’s room. Luke jumps up.   


“Mom, this is Dr…”

 

“Gregory House – nice to meet you.” He cuts in. He then turns to Luke. “Be all right if we spoke alone for awhile?”

 

“Well, you’re gonna need me to…”

 

House shakes his head. “Got your case notes… doctor. There’s a cafeteria downstairs.” House holds out a twenty dollar bill. “Get yourself whatever you want as long as there’s enough left over for a reuben sandwich, dry, no fries, hold the pickles. Should run you about $5.80 with tax.”

 

Luke takes money with a sigh. As he moves toward the door, House pulls a pager off his belt and hands it to the kid. “I’ll page you when we’re done.”

 

Luke nods and leaves. House goes over and sits at Lucy’s bedside. She shakes her head, repeating House to let him know she acknowledges his presence.

 

“No… pickles.”

 

“Nice kid. How much do you _really_ drink?”  


She looks at him with an unreadable expression. Out in the hall, Chase, Foreman and Wilson are watching through the window in disbelief.  


“He’s really talking to a patient?”

 

Chase looks at Foreman for a brief moment. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

 

“It’s a blood clot. What’s so fascinating about that?”

 

“He likes crazy people. Likes the way they think.”

 

“They think… badly. That’s the definition of crazy. Why would he like…”

 

“They’re not boring.” Wilson points out. “He likes that.”

 

In the room, House is trying to get some clear information from Lucy. “And the meds…”

 

“Baseball!” She begins twitching. “I like baseball.”  
 

“Very nice.”

 

“Very sad. My boy and me – we went to see a game.”

 

“Not “Mets” – meds – medicine. You take what he tells you to take.”

 

Her voice breaks. “No one believes me.”

 

“I do.”

 

Back in the hall, the three teen doctors haven’t moved. Foreman is still bewildered.

 

“I thought he liked rationality.”

 

“He likes puzzles.” Wilson explains.

 

“Patients are puzzles?”

 

“You don’t think so?”

 

“I think they’re people.”

 

“Yeah. Well, he hates them, and he’s fascinated by them. Tell me you can’t relate to that symptom.”

 

Foreman shrugs and walks away. Chase doesn’t say a word. Inside the room, Lucy is laughing and smoothing out the blankets over her legs. House smiles politely.

 

“You told Luke it never hurt before.”

 

She shakes her head. “Just rough – they didn’t hurt.”

 

“Didn’t?”

 

Lucy fixes him with a glare. “Don’t lie to him, Limpie. Lively Lucy never lies to Lucas. Look what I do to him.”  
  
House merely nods and presses a button on his pager. He pulls himself to his feet and leaves the room. He joins Wilson and Chase; the former is the first to speak up.  


“Learn anything from the “human connection”?”

 

House exhales. “Yeah. The Mets suck. Also, for the last two months, she hasn’t shaved her legs. Because of the tremors… she cuts herself.”

 

“The tremors aren’t new – she must always cut herself.” Chase points out.

 

“Exactly. Something changed in the last two months. I’m thinking the amount of blood when she cut herself. So let’s start with some bloodwork. Collect and send for clotting studies, PT, PTT, factor 5, protein C&S, the whole shebang.”

 

“Good luck.” Wilson wishes.

 

He leaves the hall, passing by Luke. He has a sandwich in his hand, giving it to House.

 

“No pickles, and it’s cold now.”

 

Cameron shrugs. “If it’s a reuben, that’s the way he likes it.”

 

House throws a loose arm over the preteen. “Everyone, this is Luke.”

 

Cameron holds out her hand. “Allison Cameron, it’s nice to…”  


House cuts her off with a snarl. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, save it, we’re busy. Luke, give us another half hour with your mom. We need to do some tests.” Luke looks like he wants to protest, but he walks away. “Nice kid. Take her off the psych meds, that way we’ll know what’s what on the physical side, and who knows, we might get more out of her.”

 

The guys walk away, and House opens up the wrapper. He sits down, munching into the sandwich. Cameron hangs back with him. “Don’t worry – no pickles.”  


“Did you have a good birthday?”

 

He pauses, taken aback. “Um, yeah…”  


“Good.” She smiles. “It’s not every day you turn nineteen.”

 

She gets up and walks away, with House staring at nothingness. Eventually, he picks his sandwich back up and continues eating. In Lucy’s room, she is not happy. Foreman is setting up to draw blood.

 

“No, no blood, not mine!”

 

“For the test, Dr. House said…”

 

She cuts him off by spitting in his face. Foreman presses the call button for help, and several aides run inside. They remain at either side, attempting to hold her as she thrashes.  


“You’re gonna steal it, sell it, no, no blood, no, no blood, no, no blood, no!”

 

“Haldol, 5 milligrams, stat.”

 

“No no no no no no …!” She fades out as the Haldol kicks in.

 

In exam room one, down in the clinic, House enters the room where an overprotective mom and her ten-year-old daughter wait.

 

“Well, good news, the lab says it’s not strep, so we’re done.”

 

“Wait a second…” The mom starts.

 

“No, really, not strep. Boys in the lab, sure, they’re hard drinkers, but they’re pros, you know. Plus, your kid actually has none of the symptoms of strep. We just figured it was quicker running the test than arguing with you. My point is – go!”

 

“I just wanted to ask your opinion, doctor. She’s having a birthday party next week and she’s upset that I’m getting a sugarless cake.”

 

“The other kids hate it!” The girl pouts, looking hopeful toward the boy nine years older.

 

“This is why you’re here.” House rolls his eyes.

 

“Sugar is the leading cause of obesity in America.” Her mom frowns.

 

House pinches the bridge of his nose. “You want a doctor to scare her about the dangers of sugar.”

 

“She needs to get her weight under control.”

 

“Well, you know…” House sighs, walking over to the girl. “I feel sorry for those other kids, Wendy, who don’t have a mom like yours – a mom who knows that sugar causes heart disease, appendicitis, and athlete’s foot.”

 

“That’s not fair.” Wendy’s mom crosses her arms.

 

“Oh, yes it is. No, I get it. You want her to slim down a little, so she can wear pretty clothes like yours.” He pointedly glances at their matching arm wear. “Love the bracelets. Hey! What about matching outfits? You could be twins! She can’t be your daughter; it’s impossible. You look way too young!” As he leaves, he throws a last minute comment over his shoulder. “Happy birthday. Get the kid a damned ice cream cake.”  


He gratefully leaves the clinic and runs into House on the way to his office.

 

“You drugged her.” The eleven-year-old immediately confronts him.  


“Actually, I didn’t. I’ve taken her off all medications.”

 

“Your guy, Foreman, gave her Haldol.” The kid persists.

 

“We needed blood for some tests. I assume that was the only way to get it.”

 

“He knocked her out.”

 

Already getting increasingly irritated with the kid, he towers over him. “Look – I have a cane, and I know how to use it.”

 

Luke winces a little, but he doesn’t back down. “I hired you. You work for me.”

 

House suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay, can I go now? Boss?”

 

House walks away, moving toward his original destination. Luke calls after him.

 

“The Haldol changes her. She says it makes her soul numb. Don’t give it to her.”  
  
House pretends like he doesn’t hear, and Luke returns to his mom’s room. He pulls up a chair to talk with her. In no time, he’s reading a story to her, one of her favorites.

 

““If there be rags enough, he will know her name and be well pleased remembering it.”” He pauses when his mom starts coughing. “You okay?”

 

““Old… days…”” She smiles.

 

Luke nods and returns to the book. ““For in the old days, though she had young men’s praise and old men’s blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise.””

 

He would continue, but Lucy coughs again. This time, blood spatters on the page. Luke turns in surprise, only for Lucy to be trying to sit up. She’s coughing and vomiting up a lot of blood. Luke jumps up and runs to the door, shouting.

 

“Help! Somebody, help!”  
 

  
Available nurses rush in to help. Her updated chart reads ‘no Haldol’, and they adjust accordingly. The incident sends pages to the team. Chase is in the clinic, and the others are in the differential office. House immediately stands up and marches into his office.

 

“Foreman!”

 

The fifteen-year-old sighs and follows House into the office. The older kid locks it and immediately moves in to chew Foreman out.

 

“So, when I said, “no psych meds,” I’m just curious – which word didn’t you understand?”

 

“The Haldol had nothing to do with the bleed. You know that. I used it purely as a chemical restraint.” Foreman explains how it can’t be his fault.

 

“Oh, great, well, that’s good to hear. So she won’t experience any of those pesky little side effects you get when your motives _aren’t_ pure.”

 

“Those side effects are so rare!”

 

“Passing out, increased confusion, depression, that’s not gonna happen. That’s not gonna screw up our diagnosis, ‘cause you just used it to restrain her. I’m so relieved!”

 

“She spit in my face!” He’s running out of reasons to be mad.

 

House cynically sighs. “It must have been so frightening for you.”  


Foreman groans with a solid huff. “What was I supposed to do? Tie her down?”

 

House almost yells. “Yeah! Anything but give her drugs – that’s basically my point!”  


He leaves his office, storming into the differential room when Chase arrives. He’s holding a folder, which he hands over to House. Still, he looks at Cameron when he speaks.

 

“The clotting studies. Pretty fast – you promise to date the entire lab?”  


“No – I save that for emergencies. I told them she bled out two units and if it happened again, she’d die.”

 

“If it’d happened at home, she would have died. That ER doc, he was gonna send her home.”

 

House scowls, some anger burning down. “It turns out your best judgment is not good enough. Here’s an idea – next time, use mine.”  


Chase stays behind as the other three head out into the hall. House speaks up from the silence, in a slightly less agitated voice.

 

“Why did the patient bleed out?”

 

“The clotting studies so far are normal.” Cameron mentions when Foreman says nothing.

 

“Well, cover your ears if you don’t want me to spoil the ending. Everything was normal, except for prolonged PT time, which means what?”

 

Cameron silently urges Foreman to say something, which he does to break the silence. “Usually it means, whoever drew the blood didn’t do it right.”

 

“Oh, that’s right – ‘cause… you drew the blood. But you were precise, because you knew the tube was purely for the PT study.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“And I’m right with you. I trust this result. For two reasons: a) because you are a good doctor, and b) because five milligrams of IV Haldol makes for a spectacularly cooperative patient. The prolonged PT time makes me think she’s got a vitamin K deficiency.”  
  
”Vitamin K would explain the bleed but not the clot.” Cameron pipes up from the tension.

 

“Without vitamin K, protein C doesn’t work. Without protein C, she clots. Clotting and thinning; all at the same time.”

 

“What about another drug interacting with heparin, an antibiotic like ampicillin? That would …”

 

“Clever, but she’s not on ampicillin.”

 

Cameron flips through the notes. As she does so, Chase jogs up to join them. “Two months ago, she complained of a sore throat. And he got her ampicillin.”

 

“Which she refused to take.”

 

“He just said she didn’t take it. What is it, everybody lies, except for schizophrenics and their children?”

 

Chase chooses now to weigh in. “It’s more likely than malnourishment. Why not scurvy or the plague?”

 

House says sarcastically, “Gee, I wish my idea was as cool and with it as yours. What is yours, by the way? Do you have one?”

 

Chase nods. “Alcohol. Simple. It causes immobility, which explains the DVT. It also causes cirrhosis which explains the bleed and the prolonged PT time. Let’s ultrasound the liver.”

 

“Three theories. Check out her place for ampicillin and diet, then ultrasound her liver. Let’s find out who’s right before she bleeds to death.”

 

The ducklings suddenly walk away. Chase and Foreman enter the patient’s apartment building. They travel upstairs in silence, coming up to the specific door. Chase moves in first, pulling a credit card from his wallet and attempting to open the door with it. Foreman watches in amusement.

 

“So House says the kid’s sensitive. Thinks he takes good care of her. If we don’t find anything, why let him know we did it in the first place? What’s the point?” Foreman lifts something from his back pocket. “Why not just make old Foreman lift the key from the kid’s backpack?”

 

Chase takes it with a scowl, and they go in. The couch is rumpled, as though someone sleeps there. Judging by the Pixar-themed sheets and notebooks cluttering the table beside it, one can easily estimate the boy sleeps there. Chase decides to point it out while Foreman bypasses the living room as a whole.

 

“Looks like Luke sleeps in the living room.”

 

“Nothing in there.” Foreman leaves the bathroom, falling short at the woman’s bed. “He lays out her clothes?”

 

Sure enough, a flowery nightgown and slippers are laid out at the end of the bed. Chase joins him, noticing that the bureau drawers are labeled with days of the week. Chase shakes his head.

 

“Enough organization, enough lists, you think you can control the uncontrollable. Fix her meds, fix her clothes, maybe you can even fix her.”

 

“Pick that up on your psych rotation?”

 

Chase ignores him, picking up a framed photograph of a younger Lucy and six-year-old Luke. Foreman peers through the clutter and discovers the strongbox.

 

“Trifluo perazine, Thorazine, Foziril – whew, they tried everything. The ampicillin –“ He stops and shakes the bottle. “Damn, they never touched it. There goes Cameron’s theory.”

 

“Oh, God, I hope it’s not a vitamin K deficiency.”

 

Hurriedly, the fifteen-year-olds go into the kitchen. The fridge is empty, but the freezer is full of frozen burger dinners. The boys hiss and stomp their feet in disappointement.

 

“Damn.” Chase curses.

 

“Breakfast, lunch and dinner. House was right.”

 

The boys bag a few boxes up for House. An hour and a half later, the microwave in the diagnostics differential lounge beeps. House takes out a frozen burger and goes to sit at the table, which currently only has eleven-year-old Luke seated.

 

“That’s the only thing she’ll eat.”

 

“Ah. Problem is, you can’t actually live on this stuff.”

 

“I checked it out, I looked on the box, all the nutritional values were solid. There’s plenty of protein, and calories…”

 

“Yeah, vitamin A and C, but no K. That’s why your mom got sick.”

 

“So, what’s the plan?”

 

“Load her up with vitamin K.”

 

“That’s it?” Luke stares back in incredulity.

 

“If it all checks out, you can take her home in a couple of days. Oh God, you’re upset about something. You’re gonna open to me now, aren’t you?”

 

Luke starts to cry. “It’s all my fault…”

 

House rubs a hand over his forehead. “Here we go…. OK, I’m gonna say this once. You have done a very good job taking care of your mother. If this was all she’d eat, then what else could you do? Gosh, just being a kid is a full-time job…”

 

Luke goes from crying to getting angry in an instant. “Shut up! I’m eleven, double digits! I should be able to take care of my mom! I almost killed her.”

 

House merely shrugs. “Good example, just the time it takes to express those ridiculous self-centered teenage ideas… I don’t envy your schedule.” He takes a bite of the burger. “No pickles.”

 

“My mom doesn’t like them either.” Luke’s attitude has changed again, now to a more fond yet resigned tone.

 

“Smart woman.”

 

“Before she got sick, I didn’t like how bossy she was, always telling me what to do, the right way to do it. Never thought I’d miss that.” He lifts his backpack, and then quietly complains of wrist pain. “Ah…”

 

House smirks. “You should get that looked at.”  
  
About an hour later, Foreman and Chase are walking down the hall. Chase just can’t shake that something is wrong; that they’ve just overlooked something in front of them.

 

“I still don’t buy a vitamin K deficiency.”

 

“House was right. That usually makes you happy. Less work for us.”

 

“The kid feeds his mum a steady diet of booze and the problem is too many burgers?”

 

“The kid’s in a tough situation – you do what you’ve gotta do to survive.”

 

“Feeding alcohol to an alcoholic is not a survival technique.” The blonde shakes his head.

 

“Where I come from, if it works…”

 

“Yeah, right. I’m rich, I couldn’t possibly understand what this kid is going through. Just because you’re drinking pricier stuff doesn’t mean you don’t have a problem.”

 

“You’ve seen someone stagger down that road?”

 

He doesn’t answer the given question. “No way vitamin K’s the whole story.”  
  
While the two discuss the case, House is placing up fresh x-rays on the lightbox in his office. Luke is with him, since the x-rays are of the younger kid’s wrist.

 

“It’s not broken.” House assures the preteen, pointing at a certain area. “See this right here? It’s the epiphyseal plate, otherwise known as the growth plate.”  
  
”What’s wrong with it?”

 

“Amazing thing, this bone. If you know how to read it, it can tell you how old someone really is, exactly how old.”

 

Immediately, Luke regrets everything. His eyes are downcast and he searches for something interesting on the floor. “Great.” He mutters weakly.

 

“Not even nine. Almost, though. Two weeks away, maybe a month.”

 

“Last week. I turned nine last week.”

 

House walks over to his desk and sits down. “Happy birthday to both of us. I turned nineteen a few weeks ago. If you’re gonna lie though, go big, go sixteen. That way you won’t need your crazy mom to help you buy cigarettes or any of that other stuff.”

 

“Great. Thanks for the tip.” He sighs quietly, whipping out a spare notebook. “Now, when I bring my mom home, is there anything I need to know about taking care of her?”

 

“I suppose your biggest worry isn’t the booze. You’re nine, basically no mom. Child Welfare let kids get away with that, well, they wouldn’t need those nice foster homes, and that would make them sad.”

 

“They’d put her someplace too.” He interjects. “My life is working.”

 

“Not the word I’d use. Most nine-year-old kids are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, you know, they’re sniffing glue, eating mud…”

 

Feeling defensive, his walls rise. “If you turn me in, I’ll sue you. That’s privileged information.”

 

House scoffs. “Oh, relax. It’s not even your x-ray.”

 

Luke is taken aback and House makes a face at him. Down the hall, Chase and Cameron are in Lucy’s room. Chase is completing an ultrasound of her liver, while Cameron busies herself with a drug vial.

 

“She’s awfully calm.” Cameron looks her over.

 

“House write new orders?”

 

“There’s a little bit of scarring, not much, not enough to con…”

 

Chase frowns. “It’s cirrhosis. But she doesn’t drink!”

 

Cameron frowns as well. “Congratulations, you win.” She then catches something on the monitor. “Actually… no one wins.”

 

Chase follows her gaze. “A tumor. Cystic?”

 

Cameron looks away. “Solid mass. Cancer.”  


The teenagers call Wilson in for a consult. He looks at the ultrasound and confirms their suspicions. “The vitamin K caused the DVT, and aggravated the liver. But the tumor’s the real reason for the bleed. The tumor’s the problem.”

 

Wilson goes to talk to the patient, while House and the ducklings convene in the conference room. Wilson puts on his serious look.

 

“Mrs. Palmeiro, I’m Dr Wilson. I’m afraid I have some bad news from your ultrasound. You have cancer.”

 

At once, Luke puts down notebook, walks away from her bedside, overwhelmed. Lucy watches his reaction. In the conference room, they discuss the possibilities.

 

“It’s big. Five point eight centimeters.” Foreman describes.

 

“We do nothing; she dies from liver failure within sixty days.” Chase runs a hand through his hair.

 

“She needs a transplant.” Cameron almost demands.

 

“That’s gonna happen.” House spits out sardonically.

 

“She’s a 38 years old, she’s a mother...”

 

House sneers at the picture-perfect world Cameron seems to be living in. “She’s a schizophrenic mother, with no money, on the public dole, in fact, who knocks back vodka every time a breeze blows her way.”  


Wilson walks in as Foreman speaks up to add to the conversation at hand.

 

“Mickey Mantle had a whole bar named after him. He got a transplant.”

 

“Yeah, well, Lucy can’t switch-hit. Plan B. Surgery to resect the tumor.”

 

Chase has an idea. “Joe Bergen does the knife thing -- laser cauterizes while it cuts, saves more liver.”

 

Wilson sadly shakes his head. “The tumor’s way too big. He won’t even consider it.”

 

Foreman frowns. “Not a big risk taker, Bergen. He won’t even drink milk on its expiration date.”

 

Wilson holds up his hands. “He has no discretion. Five point eight centimeters is past the surgical guidelines.”  


House hesitates. “Would he do it at 4.6?”

 

“Why don’t we just say it’s zero, then we don’t need him at all. Tumors grow, they don’t shrink.” Cameron ridicules.

 

“This one does.” House states.

 

It’s really late when the team figures this out. Two team players have a role early in the morning, but for now, the team is going home.

 

About thirty minutes past seven in the morning, Wilson and Cameron are in Lucy’s room. Cameron is operating the ultrasound while Wilson watches with the large syringe in hand. They’re all set to shrink the tumor for surgery.

 

“Ninety five percent ethanol. The ethanol dehydrates the tumor cells, literally sucks them dry. Shrinks the tumor temporarily.”

 

Cameron feeds him a look. “How temporarily?”

 

“Well, if we’re lucky, just long enough to fool the surgeon.”  
 

Several minutes before nine, House walks into the clinic – only to catch Cuddy coming out of her office. He inwardly curses, but externally smirks a little in her direction.

 

“Good morning, Dr. House!”

 

“Good morning, Dr. Cuddy! Love that outfit. Says, I’m professional, but I’m still a woman. Actually, it sorta yells the second part.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and your big cane is real subtle too.”

 

Ready to get out of her eyesight, he turns to walk away. “Gotta go. Those running noses aren’t just gonna start walking on their own.”

 

She doesn’t allow him to get too far. “The clinic can wait.”

 

House stops but doesn’t turn fully around. “How long? Maybe we could catch a movie.”

 

“You should know by now my doctors have no secrets from me.”

 

House facepalms with a visible scowl plastered on his face. “I don’t believe it. Who came running to Mommy?”  


“It doesn’t matter who. The point is, I know exactly what you did.”

 

House’s eyes widen. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

 

She walks up to him. “Somebody knows about a bad thing you did – that’s a big field. But somebody you think might have told me, that narrows it down quite a bit. Someone who views me as a maternal authority figure. A young person, perhaps… How am I doing? You think I’m gonna get there? Presumably hospital business. How many patients…”

 

“It’s Chase. He was wearing those damn short shorts again. He distracted me and I just felt that deep sense of belonging.”

 

Cuddy rolls her eyes again, at the overwhelming theatrics. “Actually, I was just gonna remind you, you owe me six clinic hours this week.”

 

“Oops.”

 

They separate. Cuddy walks over and picks up a phone, requesting the charts on House’s current patients. House, on the other hand, grabs the chart for whoever is in exam room one. The patient, Henry, keeps hiccupping.

 

“Hiccups. I’ve tried everything.”

 

“Um-hmm.” House reads from the chart. “Pulling the tongue, icepacks on the throat, hitting yourself… the groin pinch. Well, you’ve certainly covered all the normal medical bases. Uh, how are you hitting yourself, though? Is it open hand or fist?”

 

“Open hand.”

 

“Well, that’s how they teach it at Harvard Med. How hard though?”

 

Cuddy barges in as Henry slaps himself with force.

 

“I’m sorry, I missed that. Could… could you do that again?.” Henry slaps himself again. That’s… that’s very good.” House turns sideways to Cuddy. “Hiccups.”

 

She’s definitely _not_ in the mood. “I need to speak with you. _now_.”  


“Mm-hhmmm, I need to go pee-pee.” He turns to the patient as he walks out. “Dial it up a notch and repeat. I’ll be back.” Cuddy follows as Henry slaps himself again.

 

Minutes later, House is washing his face in the men’s room as Cuddy walks in. House groans and dries his hands and face on a paper towel.

 

“Ooh, girl in the boys’ bathroom. Very dramatic. Must be very important what you have to say to me.” He announces in an exaggerated tone of voice.

 

“Yesterday your patient’s tumor was 5.8 centimeters. Today it’s 4.6. How did that happen?”

 

“At a guess, I’d say “Dr. House must be really really good – why am I wasting him on hiccups?”” At her pointed look, he explains himself. “I wash before and after.” He unashamedly walks over to urinal.

 

Cuddy crosses her arms. “You also requisitioned 20cc of ethanol -- what patient was that for? Or are you planning a party?”

 

“Do me a favor…?” He asks instead, calling over his shoulder.

 

Cuddy groans, a little disgusted, as she turns on the water faucet. He barely audibly thanks her and starts to pee.

 

“You shrunk the tumor!”

 

“Only way to get the guy to do the surgery…”

 

“Fraud! Fraud was the only way. There is a reason that we have these guidelines.”

 

“I know – to save lives. Specifically doctors’ lives, and not just their lives but their lifestyles. Wouldn’t wanna operate on anyone really sick – they might die and spoil our stats.”

 

House shakes and zips his fly. He makes his way back to the sinks to wash his hands. Cuddy moves over a little.

 

“Bergen has a right to know what he is operating on.”

 

“True. I got all focused on her right to live, and forgot. You do what you think is right.” He concedes demeaningly as he grabs another paper towel.  


A few hours later, Cameron walks into House’s office as he’s typing away on his computer. She shyly walks directly up to his desk when he notices her. He stops and turns to face her.

 

“You really didn’t know.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “No. I didn’t. And frankly I’m angry. Which I’m guessing is the correct response. ‘Course I’ll know better once you tell me what you’re talking about.”

 

“Your birthday.”

 

“Oh. Anger was a bad guess. Well, normally I’d put on a festive hat and celebrate the fact that the earth has circled the sun one more time. I really didn’t think it was gonna make it this year, but darnit, if it wasn’t the Little Planet That Could all over again.”

 

“It’s a birthday. It’s an excuse to be happy. You think that’s lame? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

 

“Why are you here? To buy me a pony?”

 

She purses her lips. “I’m just waiting for the surgery.”

 

“Yeah well, go scrub in.”  


Another hour and forty-five minutes later, Doctor Bergen is angry at the decisions. He’s discovered a flaw in his latest patient, ordering his lackeys to close her up. He’s removing his operating gloves and mask as he and Cameron walk out.

 

“That tumor didn’t just walk itself into a bar and order up a double shot of ethanol. Someone _shrunk_ it down.”  


“I’m sorry. It was very, very wrong.”

 

“House is lucky I didn’t just close her up. He tries again, that’s what happens.”

 

“I’ll pass it on.” She nods.  


Another two hours pass, and the results are back. Lucy is in her room, fast asleep. Chase is sitting by with Luke.

 

“It looks like the surgeon got it all, but she’s gonna have to have some chemotherapy.”

 

Luke adds this news to his notes. “What kind is it?”

 

“Luke, stop writing. If you stop for a second, it’s not all gonna fall apart. Give yourself a break once in a while. The fact is, your mum’s gonna have an extra drink every now and then.”

 

“No. No, she won’t, she doesn’t.”

 

“Fine. There are some things you just can’t fix, that’s all I’m saying.”  


“That’s how you’d handle it, something like this? You’d just give up?”

 

“No. I’d do it just like you. It’s an infusion.” Chase hands him a pamphlet. “She’s gonna have a drain in her abdomen, you’re gonna have to check for possible infections.”  


Before either boy says another word, a thirty-something woman shows up in a business suit. “Lucas Palmeiro? Trina Wyeth, Child Services, State of New Jersey.”

 

A forty-something man in a gray suit stands firmly behind her. Chase stands up in somewhat of an alarm. He feels protective toward Luke.

 

“Can I help you? This is a private room.”

 

“He’s only nine-years-old, a minor, he’s in a tough living situation -- we’re just here to help.”

 

“I don’t need your help!” Luke calls out at the same time Chase questions the age. “Nine?”  
  
”Lucas, you’re gonna have to come with us. Right Now.”

 

“Where are you taking him?”

 

“Until the determination had been made, he’ll be housed at Children’s Services.”

 

“I don’t wanna be housed, I live with my mom.”

 

“Not for the next few days.” She watches as Luke stands up, and goes over to Lucy’s bed. “Come on, let’s not make this difficult, huh?”  
  
”Mom? Mom? I love you.”

 

She blearily wakes up and turns over to face him.  


“The Mets lost. You remember?”

 

He smiles sadly. “Yeah. I remember.”

 

“I love you.” She whispers as she closes her eyes.

 

Luke picks up his backpack and walks out crying, with tears streaming down his face. House and Wilson are just down the hall, waiting for an elevator.

 

“Cuddy didn’t say anything about pushing Bergen to finish the surgery?” Wilson asks suspiciously.

 

“Not a word. Some kind of mind game. She’s waiting for me to crack.”

 

“Well, either that, or she’s just being nice.”

 

The elevator dings. House shrugs. “Yeah, well…”

 

Neither of them can get on, as Luke storms past them, followed by Child Services reps. The teens share a glance and board the elevator car as well.

 

“You said you wouldn’t call – you’re a real bastard, you know?” Luke glares at House’s reflection as the doors close.

 

“Yeah. I get that a lot. I don’t think Mom’s crazy.”  


Hours later, Luke is gone off to Children’s Services. House is sitting in Lucy’s room, reading to her. ““For in the old days, though she had young men’s praise and old men’s blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise.”” He snaps the book shut, watching as she sits up from the sound. “You called Social Services. It was you.”

 

“No, no. No.” She begins to protest.

 

House waves a hand absently. “It’s Okay, it’s Okay, I get it. He’ll have an easier time dealing with the system. Sure, he won’t be with his real mother, but his real mother’s sick. Someone needs to take care of him.”

  
She frowns. “I’m not gonna live here.”

 

“What would his future have been? Taking you to chemo and back on the bus… and even if the cancer’s in complete remission, he’ll still have a mother who hears voices.”

 

“Talk no more, talk… no more” She whimpers.

 

““Look what I do to him, limpie.” You said that. I checked the phone records – only one call from this room. Smart – they charge you two bucks a call. It was to Social Services of the State of New Jersey. You’re his mother, couldn’t do it to him anymore. Good for you.”

 

Later, it is past six o’clock. House and Wilson are coming out of House’s office. They have their jackets on and are walking down the hall.

 

“Schizophrenics can make rational decisions.”

 

“On the small stuff, yeah, when to sleep, what to drink, no lemonade but I’ll take some hemlock if you’ve got it.”

 

Wilson smirks. “Your man Socrates.”

 

“But giving up your son, because it’s better for him – it’s so sane, so rational. Self-sacrifice is not a symptom of schizophrenia… it excludes the diagnosis.”

 

Wilson’s jaw holds open. “She’s not schizophrenic?”

 

“She’s thirty-six-years-old when she first presents…”

 

“It’s a little late, but within the parameters.”

 

“The internist sends her to a shrink, one shrink sends her to the next, she tells them all she’s not crazy, the drugs don’t work and why would they if she’s not a head case? She got clearer when I took her off the psych meds.” They pause at House’s office door. “You think _I’m_ crazy.”  


“Well, yeah, but that’s not the problem. Didn’t we just leave your office?”

 

“I like to walk.”

 

House grabs a bottle of Scotch and Luke’s notebook from a desk drawer. The teens then share an elevator ride and check out at the lobby. They separate once they reach the parking lot; each going to their own cars to go to their own homes. House climbs up to his third floor apartment and decides to play a little music. It is half an hour till midnight and House is playing something classical on his baby grand piano. As he finishes that piece, taps out “happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.” He then takes a few steps to collapse on the couch. He takes another drink of the Scotch and flips through some pages of Luke’s notebook. With something itching his mind, he picks up his phone and dials.

 

“Is that Dr. Jeffrey Walters?”

 

“Y-yes.” The person on the other end yawns. “Who is this?”

 

“Hi. My name is Greg House, I’m a doctor…”

 

“Dr. House, it is almost midnight.”

 

“Oh, is that the time? Yeah, I’m sorry, my watch must have stopped.”

 

“Mm-hmm. Okay, what do you need, Dr. House?”

 

“Listen, you treated a patient about eighteen months ago, a woman named Lucille Palmeiro, I wondered if you recalled running any tests…” The other doctor hangs up. “… at all?”  


He rolls his eyes, noting the unprofessionalism. He looks at the notebook again, and then gathers his things. He leaves his apartment. While waiting at a red light, he pages the ducklings and Wilson to meet him in his office as soon as possible. Well, he basically threatens them with the pages. Foreman just leaves through the front door, no questions asked. Chase and Cameron resort to sneaking out. Wilson also leaves through the front door, paying no mind to the shadows lurking behind the living room window of what used to be his home. Eventually, they’re all crowded in House’s office, with the latter pacing.

 

“I have a headache. It’s my only symptom. I go to see three doctors. The neurologist tells me it’s an aneurysm, the immunologist says I got hay fever, the intensivist… can’t be bothered, sends me to a shrink, who tells me that I’m punishing myself ‘cause I wanna sleep with my mommy.”

 

“Maybe you’re just not getting enough sleep.” Foreman blinks.

 

“Pick your specialist, you pick your disease. If it’s not schizophrenia, what else presents with psych symptoms?”

 

“Porphyria.” Cameron yawns.

 

“The madness of King George.” Chase yawns in suit.

 

“What about that copper thing? What’s it called? It’s genetic – the body accumulates too much copper.” Wilson is barely awake.

 

“Oh, uh, Wilson’s disease?” Chase guesses.

 

House bites back an insult with a smirk. “Very rare. Nice. I like it.”  


Foreman looks at him. “If any of us did this, you’d fire us.”

 

“Well, that’s funny, I thought I encouraged you to question…”

 

“You’re not questioning, you’re hoping, you want it to be Wilson’s, boom! Give her a couple of drugs, she’s okay!”  
  
”July seventeenth, she had an appointment with a Dr. Carne.”

 

“She didn’t keep it.” Cameron remembers. “She never kept another appointment with a shrink he made after that.”  
 

“Carne is not a shrink. I looked him up. He’s an ophthalmologist. Now why would she want her eyes checked?”  


“Wilson’s presents with cataracts, I think.”

 

“Yes, it does. It also causes slight cirrhosis, which Dr. Chase so eagerly attributed to alcohol.” He looks at them all. “So what are we still doing here?”  


The ducklings leap up to work on the diagnosis. House stands as Wilson promptly falls asleep. House turns off the lights and heads back to Lucy’s room.  
  
”Lucy!” He shouts and she snaps awake. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

 

“Neither do I,” Chase and Foreman come in, and help sit her up in bed. “But I’m crazy…”  
  
”Come on.” They get her up, and move an eye scope around to the side of her bed.

 

“Put your hands on the bar, and your chin in here.” Chase instructs and she obliges. “Thank you.”  
  
”You’re gonna see a bright light, OK? Your body might be accumulating too much copper. If it is, this should help us see something called Kaiser-Fleischer rings, copper-colored circles around your corneas.” He twiddles knobs at the controls, which brings the view into focus. There is a copper ring around her cornea. He turns to the other doctors. “I guess we should start treating her for Wilson’s.”

 

“It’s what I’d do.”  


She’s put on the treatment. Chase helps House walk Wilson to his own office, to lie down on the couch. The other teenagers camp out in House’s office – with House taking his lounge chair. They wake around ten, due to Cuddy. She lets them know that Lucy is about to be discharged. The ducklings plus House get up and join Cuddy in the woman’s room. She’s dressed, wearing reading glasses and reading from the Yeats book.  
   
Noticing the swarm of doctors headed her way, she finishes up aloud. ““For in the old days, though she had young men’s praise and old men’s blame, among the poor, both old and young gave her praise.””

 

She then takes off her glasses and sighs contently. Chase is first inside.

 

“Hi, Mrs. Palmeiro, ready to go home?”

 

“Almost.” She smiles.

 

The social worker returns, without the man in the suit. Luke runs in, giving his mom a big hug. House catches Wilson’s attention with his eyes and they retreat toward the elevator in silence.

 

“Mom? How are you?” He asks once he pulls away.  


“I’m good.” She laughs with tears in her eyes. “Oh, oh, oh, you really need a haircut.”

 

Minutes later, Luke is pushing Lucy in a wheelchair with an aide alongside. The doors open, but Luke stops upon seeing House and Wilson.

 

“Dr. House!” She exclaims. “Luke, you’re making Dr. House wait!”  
  
 “That’s OK, we’re just here for the music.”  
  
”Luke, come on.” They all get in, and the doors close. She looks up to House excitedly. “I’m being discharged.”

 

 “I heard a rumor.”

 

“Thank God I had cancer, huh? It’s terrible having everybody think you’re nuts…”

 

“Really?” He questions, sneaking a glance back to smirking Wilson.

 

“I called to thank you, did you get my message?”

 

“Yes. You’re welcome.”

 

“Luke resentfully glares at him. “I’m never thanking you. You turned me in. I told you we were doing OK, it was none of your business.”

 

Lucy looks uncomfortable, and House notices. “Look. I don’t care how you were living. I just wanted you out of _my_ life. That’s why I had Dr. Cuddy call Social Services.”  


House looks at Wilson, then at Luke. Luke takes it for an answer. Lucy stares straight ahead. The door opens, they wheel out. House and Wilson stand watching them go.  
  
”You okay?”

 

“You were right. It wasn’t the DVT. It was the schizophrenia.”

 

“I know.”

 

“She’s not nearly as interesting any more.”

 

Wilson shrugs. “Lunch?”

 

“If you’re buying.” House chuckles, but he’s already turning toward the cafeteria.

 

Wilson’s laugh matches House’s. “When am I not?”


End file.
